^_ 


: 


I 


THE  GREAT   FRENCH  WRITERS 


BERNARDIN   DE  ST.  PIERRE 


®reat  JFrencj) 


MADAME  DE  SfiVIGNfi     .    .  BY  GASTON  BOISSIER. 

GEORGE  SAND BY  E.  CARD. 

MONTESQUIEU BY  ALBERT  SOREL. 

VICTOR  COUSIN BY  JULES  SIMON. 

TURGOT BY  LEON  SAY. 

THIERS BY  PAUL  DE  REMUSAT. 

MADAME  DE  STAEL      ...  BY  ALBERT  SOREL. 

BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE  BY  ARVEDE  BARINE. 

OTHER    VOLUMES    IN    PREPARATION. 


Uniform  in  style.     Price,  $1.00  a  volume. 


Clje  ®ceat  jtoncj) 


BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE 

BY 

ARVEDE  BARINE 
TRANSLATED    BY  J.   E.    GORDON 

WITH   A    PREFACE    BY 

AUGUSTIN     BIRRELL 


CHICAGO 
A.   C.   McCLURG    AND    COMPANY 

1893 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    YOUTH — YEARS  OF  TRAVEL i 

II.  PERIOD  OF  UNCERTAINTY— VOYAGE  TO  THE  ISLE 
OF  FRANCE  ;  ACQUAINTANCE  WITH  J.  J.  ROUS- 
SEAU ;  THE  CRISIS  .  ..  .' 42 

III.  THE  "  ETUDES  DE  LA  NATURE" 87 

IV.  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA 149 

V.  WORKS  OF  His  OLD  AGE— THE  Two  MARRIAGES 
— DEATH  OF  BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE — His 
LITERARY  INFLUENCE  179 


2501301 


PREFACE. 


HTHE  life  of  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  is  so  unusual, 
•*•  so  interesting,  so  suggestive  and  amusing,  that  the 
grumpiest  of  Anglo-Saxons  need  not  complain  of  the 
fact  that  no  series  of  Great  French  Writers  would  be 
complete  which  did  not  contain  the  name  of  the  author 
of  "  Paul  and  Virginia."  Even  "  Shakespeare's  heirs  " 
must  accept  the  judgment  of  other  nations  about  their 
own  authors.  Our  duty  is  to  comprehend  a  verdict 
we  are  powerless  to  upset.  Dorian  women,  as  Gorge 
says  in  the  famous  ode  of  Theocritus,  have  a  right  to 
chatter  in  a  Dorian  accent,  and  a  great  French  writer 
is  not  necessarily  the  worse  for  a  strong  infusion  of 
French  sentiment. 

Saint- Pierre  was  no  ordinary  person,  either  as  man 
or  author.  His  was  a  strong  and  original  character, 
more  bent  on  action  than  on  literature.  Though  a 
master  of  style  and  a  great  painter  in  words,  he  was 
ever  a  preacher,  a  sermonneur,  as  Sainte-Beuve  calls 
him.  His  masterpiece  —  as  the  French  reckon  "  Paul 
and  Virginia "  to  be  —  came  by  chance,  and  is  but  a 
chapter  in  a  huge,  treatise,  a  parable  told  by  the  way  in 
a  voluminous  gospel.  It  is  as  if  Ruskin's  chef  d'ceuvre 
were  a  novelette,  or  as  if  Carlyle's  story  had  been  a 
perfect  whole,  instead  of  a  fragment  and  a  failure. 


viii  Preface. 

To  understand  "Paul  and  Virginia"  aright,  one 
should  read  the  "  Etudes  de  la  Nature,"  first  pub- 
lished in  1784.  Our  grandparents  read  them  greedily 
enough,  either  in  the  original  or  in  the  excellent  trans- 
lation of  Dr.  Henry  Hunter,  the  accomplished  minister 
of  the  Scots  Church,  London  Wall.  A  hundred  years 
have,  however,  pressed  heavily  upon  these  Studies,  but 
to  this  day  a  tender  grace  clings  to  them.  Even  so 
will  our  own  descendants  in  1984  turn  the  pages  of 
Ruskin  and  inhale  a  stray  whiff  of  the  breath  which 
once  animated  a  generation. 

Bernardin  de  Saint- Pierre  was  as  obstinate  a  theorist 
as  ever  lived,  and  his  theory  was  that  Providence  had 
fashioned  the  whole  world  with  one  intent  only,  namely, 
the  happiness  of  man.  That  man  was  not  happy, 
Saint- Pierre  sorrowfully  admitted ;  but  there  was  no 
reason  whatever,  save  his  own  folly,  why  he  should 
not  be  as  happy  as  the  days  were  long.  Nothing 
could  shake  this  faith  of  Saint-Pierre's.  The  terrible 
catastrophes  of  life  —  plague,  pestilence,  and  famine, 
earthquakes  and  shipwreck  —  counted  with  him  as 
nothing.  That  sombre  view  of  human  affairs  which 
so  oppressed  with  gloom  the  great  mind  of  Bishop 
Butler,  and  drove  the  lighter  but  humaner  spirit  of 
Voltaire  into  a  revolt  half  desperate,  half  humorous, 
never  affected  the  imagination  of  Saint-Pierre,  who 
none  the  less  had  a  tender  heart,  had  travelled  far  by 
land  and  sea,  and  often  had  laid  down  his  head  to 
rest  with  the  poor  and  the  miserable. 

Walking  once  in  the  fertile  district  of  Caux,  he  has 
described  how  he  saw  something  red  running  across 


Preface.  ix 

the  fields  at  some  distance,  and  making  towards  the 
great  road.  "  I  quickened  my  pace  and  got  up  in 
time  enough  to  see  that  they  were  two  little  girls  in 
red  jackets  and  wooden  shoes,  who,  with  much  diffi- 
culty, were  scrambling  through  the  ditch  which  bounded 
the  road.  The  tallest,  who  might  be  about  six  or 
seven  years  old,  was  crying  bitterly.  '  Child,'  said  I 
to  her,  'what  makes  you  cry,  and  whither  are  you 
going  at  so  early  an  hour  ? '  '  Sir,'  replied  she,  '  my 
poor  mother  is  very  ill.  There  is  not  a  mess  of  broth 
to  be  had  in  all  our  parish.  We  are  going  to  that 
church  in  the  bottom  to  see  if  the  Cure1  can  find  us 
some.  I  am  crying  because  my  little  sister  is  not 
able  to  walk  any  farther.'  As  she  spoke,  she  wiped 
her  eyes  with  a  bit  of  canvas  which  served  her  for  a 
petticoat.  On  her  raising  up  the  rag  to  her  face,  I 
could  perceive  she  had  not  the  semblance  of  a  shift. 
The  abject  misery  of  the  children,  so  poor  in  the 
midst  of  plains  so  fruitful,  wrung  my  heart.  The  re- 
lief which  I  could  administer  them  was  small  indeed. 
I  myself  was  then  on  my  way  to  see  misery  in  other 
forms." 

These  woebegone  little  figures  scrambling  across  a 
great  French  ditch  in  search  of  broth  attest  the  ten- 
derness of  Saint-Pierre's  heart,  whose  descriptions  are 
free  from  all  taint  of  affectation  and  insincerity.  He 
has  neither  the  leer  of  Sterne  nor  the  affected  stare  of 
Chateaubriand.  He  had,  however,  a  theory  which  was 
proof  against  all  sights  and  sounds.  The  great  earth- 
quake of  Lisbon  is  reported  to  have  made  many  athe- 
ists, and  certainly  no  event  of  the  kind  has  ever  so 


x  Preface. 

seized  hold  of  men's  imaginations.  Saint-Pierre  brushes 
it  contemptuously  on  one  side.  Says  he  in  his  Seventh 
Study :  "  The  inhabitants  of  Lisbon  know  well  that 
their  city  has  been  several  times  shattered  by  shocks 
of  this  kind,  and  that  it  is  imprudent  to  build  in  stone. 
To  persons  who  can  submit  to  live  in  a  house  of  wood, 
earthquakes  have  nothing  formidable.  Naples  and 
Portici  are  perfectly  acquainted  with  the  fate  of  Her- 
culaneum.  After  all,  earthquakes  are  not  universal ;  they 
are  local  and  periodical.  Pliny  has  observed,"  etc. 

And  so  he  works  his  way  through  the  long  list  of 
human  miseries.  Tigers,  indeed  !  Who  need  care 
for  tigers?  Have  they  not  dusky  stripes  perceptible 
a  great  way  off  on  the  yellow  ground  of  their  skin  ? 
Do  not  their  eyes  sparkle  in  the  dark  ?  How  easy  to 
avoid  a  tiger  !  With  all  the  enthusiasm  of  a  theorist, 
he  heaps  up  his  authorities  for  statements  great  and 
small,  and  levels  his  quotations  from  all  and  sundry  at 
his  reader's  head,  much  after  the  fashion  of  Mr.  Buckle. 
Of  a  truly  scientific  spirit  these  Studies  have  not  a 
trace,  but  they  contain  much  attractive  and  delightful 
writing,  and,  though  dominated  by  a  fantastic  and  pro- 
voking theory,  are  full  of  shrewdness  and  wisdom  as 
well  as  of  lofty  eloquence. 

Thus,  whilst  combating  what  he  conceives  to  be  the 
error  of  supposing  that  morality  is  determined  by  cli- 
mate, he  points  out  that  there  is  as  much  difference  in 
manners,  in  opinions,  in  habiliments,  and  even  in  physi- 
ognomy, between  a  French  opera  actor  and  a  Capuchin 
friar  as  there  is  between  a  Swede  and  a  Chinese,  and 
concludes  by  observing :  "  It  is  not  climate  which  regu- 


Preface.  xi 

lates  the  morality  of  man  ;  it  is  opinion,  it  is  education, 
and  such  is  their  power  that  they  triumph  not  only  over 
latitudes,  but  even  over  temperament." 

Saint-Pierre's  views  on  governments  and  supreme 
authority  are  worth  reading,  even  after  a  course  of 
Bodin  or  Hobbes.  He  says  in  the  same  Seventh 
Study :  — 

"  Without  paying  regard  to  the  common  division  of 
governments  into  democracy,  aristocracy,  and  mon- 
archy, which  are  only  at  bottom  political  forms  that 
determine  nothing  as  to  either  their  happiness  or  their 
power,  we  shall  insist  only  on  their  moral  constitution. 
Every  government  of  whatever  description  is  internally 
happy  and  respectable  abroad  when  it  bestows  on  all 
its  subjects  their  natural  right  of  acquiring  fortune  and 
honors,  and  the  contrary  takes  place  when  it  reserves 
to  a  particular  class  of  citizens  the  benefits  which  ought 
to  be  common  to  all.  It  is  not  sufficient  to  prescribe 
limits  to  the  people,  and  to  restrain  them  within  those 
limits  by  terrifying  phantoms.  They  quickly  force  the 
person  who  puts  them  in  motion  to  tremble  more  than 
themselves.  ~^<When  human  policy  locks  the  chain  round 
the  ankle  of  a  slave,  Divine  Justice  rivets  the  other  end 
round  the  neck  of  the  tyrant"  -<^C 

Nor  is  there  much  amiss  with  Saint-Pierre's  political 
economy. 

"  It  has  always  appeared  to  me  strangely  unaccount- 
able that  in  France,  where  there  are  such  numerous 
and  such  judicious  establishments,  we  should  have  min- 
isters of  superintendence  in  foreign  affairs,  for  war,  the 
marine,  finance,  commerce,  manufactures,  the  clergy, 


xii  Preface. 

public  buildings,  horsemanship,  and  so  on,  but  never 
one  for  agriculture.  It  proceeds,  I  am  afraid,  from  the 
contempt  in  which  the  peasantry  are  held.  All  men, 
however,  are  sureties  for  each  other,  and,  indepen- 
dently of  the  uniform  stature  and  configuration  of  the 
human  race,  I  would  exact  no  other  proof  that  all 
spring  from  one  and  the  same  original.  It  is  from  the 
puddle  by  the  side  of  the  poor  man's  hovel  which  has 
been  robbed  of  the  little  brook  whose  stream  sweet- 
ened it  the  epidemic  plague  shall  issue  forth  to  devour 
the  lordly  inhabitants  of  the  neighboring  castle."/' 

But  I  must  stop  my  quotations,  which  have  been 
made  only  because  by  their  means  better  than  by  any 
other  the  English  reader  can  be  made  to  perceive  the 
manner  of  man  the  author  of  "  Paul  and  Virginia " 
was,  and  how  it  came  about  that  he  should  write  such 
a  book.  Saint-Pierre  was  a  missionary.  He  longed  to 
convince  the  whole  world  that  he  was  right,  and  to  win 
them  over  to  his  side  and  make  them  see  eye  to  eye 
with  him.  Hence  his  fervor  and  his  force.  He  had 
not  the  genius  of  Rousseau,  with  whom  he  had  some 
odd  conversations,  but  by  virtue  of  his  wondrous  sin- 
cerity he  has  an  effectiveness  which  vies  with  the 
charm  of  the  elder  and  greater  writer.  There  is  an 
air  of  good  faith  about  Saint-Pierre.  Though  he  delib- 
erately sets  to  work  and  manufactures  descriptions,  he 
seems  to  do  so  with  as  much  honesty  of  purpose  and 
of  detail  as  Gilbert  White  made  his  famous  jottings  in 
the  parsonage  of  Selborne. 

Of  "  Paul  and  Virginia  "  little  need  be  said.  It  is  a 
French  classic,  by  the  same  title  as  "  Robinson  Crusoe  " 


Preface.  xiii 

is  a  British  one.  Defoe  has  made  English  boys  by  the 
thousand  want  to  be  shipwrecked,  and  Saint-Pierre  has 
made  French  boys  by  the  thousand  want  to  cry.  The 
position  of  "  Paul  and  Virginia  "  in  French  literature  is 
attested  in  a  score  of  ways.  Editions  abound  both  for 
the  rich  and  for  the  poor.  It  is  everywhere,  in  every 
bookshop  and  on  every  bookstall.  The  author  of 
"  Mademoiselle  de  Maupin  "  has  left  it  on  record  that 
'•'Paul  and  Virginia"  made  his  youthful  soul  burn 
within  him,  and  he  solemnly  pronounces  it  a  danger- 
ous book.  That  Theophile  Gautier  was  an  expert  in 
such  matters  cannot  be  disputed.  His  evidence,  there- 
fore, must  be  admitted,  though  as  expert  evidence  it 
may  be  criticised.  Sainte-Beuve  is  unfailing  in  praise 
of  "  Paul  and  Virginia."  He  discerns  in  it  the  notes 
of  reality  and  freshness,  the  dew  of  youth  is  upon  it,  — 
it  is  sweet  and  comely.  "  What  will  ever  distinguish 
this  graceful  pastoral  is  its  truth,  its  humane  and  ten- 
der reality.  The  graces  and  sports  of  childhood  are 
not  followed  by  an  ideal  and  mythical  youth.  From 
the  moment  when  Virginia  is  agitated  by  an  unknown 
trouble,  and  her  beautiful  blue  eyes  are  rimmed  with 
black,  we  are  in  the  midst  of  genuine  passion,  and  this 
charming  little  book,  which  Fontanes  with  an  almost 
stupid  superficiality  judgment  placed  between  '  Telema- 
chus '  and  the  '  Death  of  Abel,'  I  should  myself  classify 
between  '  Daphnis  and  Chloe '  and  the  immortal  Fourth 
Book  in  honor  of  Dido.  A  quite  Virgilian  genius 
breathes  through  it." 

That  arch-sentimentalist,  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  kept 
"  Paul  et  Virginie  "  under  his  pillow  during  his  Italian 


xiv  Preface. 

campaign ;  so  at  least  he  assured  Saint- Pierre,  but  as 
he  is  known  to  have  made  precisely  the  same  remark 
to  Tom  Paine  about  the  "  Rights  of  Man,"  he  must 
not  be  understood  au  pied  de  la  lettre.  He  is  known 
to  have  read  the  book  over  again  in  the  last  sad  days 
at  Saint  Helena,  and  no  one  can  doubt  that  it  was 
much  to  his  taste. 

I  cannot  disguise  from  myself — I  wish  I  could  — 
my  own  dislike  of  the  book.  We  may,  many  of  us, 
be  disposed  to  believe,  with  Lord  Palmerston,  that  all 
babies  are  born  good ;  but  we  feel  tolerably  certain 
that  no  babies,  if  left  to  themselves,  would  grow  up 
like  Paul  and  Virginia.  What  is  more,  we  would  not 
wish  them  to  do  so.  To  tell  the  truth,  we  cannot 
weep  over  Virginia.  A  young  woman  who  chooses  to 
drown  in  sight  of  land  and  her  lover,  with  strong  arms 
ready  to  save  her,  rather  than  disarrange  her  clothing, 
makes  us  contemptuously  angry.  Bashfulness  is  not 
modesty,  nor  can  it  be  necessary  to  die  under  circum- 
stances which  might  possibly  render  a  blush  becom- 
ing. But  the  French  cannot  be  got  to  see  this,  and 
"  Paul  et  Virginie  "  was  written  for  the  French,  to 
whom  the  spectacle  of  the  drowning  Virginia  "  one 
hand  upon  her  clothing,  the  other  on  her  heart,"  has 
long  seemed  sublime, —  a  human  sacrifice  to  la  pudeur. 
"  And  we  also,"  exclaims  one  fervent  spirit,  "  had  we 
been  on  that  fatal  strand,  should  have  cried  to  Vir- 
ginia, '  Let  yourself  be  saved  !  Quit  your  clothing, 
forget  an  instant  the  scruples  of  modesty.  Live  ! '  Do 
we  not  hear,  however,  in  despite  of  our  pity,  a  voice 
severer  and  more  delicate  than  the  cries  of  all  these 


Preface.  xv 

spectators  moved  by  so  many  dangers  and  so  much 
courage.  Virginia  cannot  with  the  pure  and  innocent 
heart  which  God  has  given  her,  with  the  chaste  love 
she  has  for  Paul,  —  Virginia  cannot  thro \v-off  her  gar- 
ments and  let  herself  be  saved  by  this  sailor.  Let 
her  die,  therefore,  that  she  may  remain  as  pure  as  her 
soul !  Let  her  die,  since  she  has  known  how  to  dis- 
tinguish, amidst  the  howling  of  the  tempest  and  the 
cries  of  the  spectators,  the  gentle  but  powerful  voice 
of  modesty." 

It  is  interesting  after  this  explosion  of  French  feel- 
ing to  call  to  mind  Carlyle's  remarks  about  "  Paul  and 
Virginia  "  in  the  second  book  of  his  prose  poem,  "  The 
French  Revolution." 

"  Still  more  significant  are  two  books  produced  on 
the  eve  of  the  ever-memorable  explosion  itself,  and 
read  eagerly  by  all  the  world,  —  Saint-Pierre's  '  Paul 
et  Virginie  '  and  Louvet's  '  Chevalier  de  Faublas,'  — 
noteworthy  books,  which  may  be  considered  as  the 
last  speech  of  old  Feudal  France.  In  the  first  there 
rises  melodiously,  as  it  were,  the  wail  of  a  moribund 
world.  Everywhere  wholesome  Nature  is  in  unequal 
conflict  with  diseased  perfidious  Art;  cannot  escape 
from  it  in  the  lowest  hut,  in  the  remotest  island  of  the 
sea.  Ruin  and  Death  must  strike  down  the  loved  one, 
and  what  is  most  significant  of  all,  death  even  here  not 
by  necessity,  but  by  etiquette.  What  a  world  of  pru- 
rient corruption  lies  visible  in  that  super-sublime  of 
modesty !  Yet  on  the  whole  our  good  Saint-Pierre  is 
musical,  poetical,  though  most  morbid.  We  will  call 
his  book  the  swan-song  of  old  dying  France." 


xvi  Preface. 

So  far  Carlyle,  who  was  a  sentimentalist  at  heart. 

It  is  noticeable,  however,  that  M.  Barine,  whose 
biography  of  Saint-Pierre  is  here  introduced  to  the 
English  reader,  and  who,  I  have  no  doubt,  represents 
modern  criticism,  lays  no  stress  upon  the  death  of 
Virginia,  observing,  with  much  composure,  "  The  ship- 
wreck of  the  '  Saint  Geran '  and  the  death  of  Virginia, 
which  made  us  all  shed  floods  of  tears  when  we  were 
children,  are,  it  must  be  allowed,  somewhat  melodra- 
matic, and,  from  a  literary  point  of  view,  very  inferior 
to  the  passionate  scenes"  (p.  173).  It  is  as  a  love- 
story  glowing  and  fervent,  full  of  the  unrestfulness  and 
tumult  which  are  the  harbingers  of  passion  in  virgin 
breasts,  that  "  Paul  et  Virginie  "  must  now  be  regarded. 
So  M.  Barine  says,  and  he  is  undoubtedly  right ;  and 
the  English  reader,  however  much  his  moral  sense  re- 
jects the  climax  of  the  tale,  must  be  dull  of  heart  who 
does  not  recognize,  even  though  he  fail  to  admire,  the 
power  which  depicts  the  woful  plight  of  poor  Virginia 
when  she  becomes  Love's  thrall. 

The  pages  of  "Paul  et  Virginie"  are  frequently 
enlivened  by  aphorism  and  ennobled  by  description. 
One  of  its  sayings  is  quoted  with  great  effect  by  Sainte- 
Beuve  in  his  "  Causerie  "  on  Cowper :  "  II  y  a  de  plus 
dans  la  femme  une  gaiet£  legere  qui  dissipe  la  tristesse 
de  rhomme."  In  the  same  way  there  is  a  certain 
quality  in  the  writings  of  Saint-Pierre,  perceptible  even 
to  the  foreigner,  which  renders  acquiescence  in  the 
judgment  of  France  upon  his  fame  as  a  writer  easier 
than  might  have  been  expected. 

A.   B. 


BERNARDIN  DE  ST.  PIERRE. 

CHAPTER  I. 

YOUTH— YEARS  OF  TRAVEL. 

IN  looking  over  the  collection  of  the  portraits 
of  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre,  we  are  wit- 
nesses of  a  strange  transformation.  That  of 
Lafitte,  engraved  in  1805,  during  the  lifetime  of 
the  original,  represents  a  fine  old  man  with  a 
long  face,  strongly  marked  features,  and  locks 
of  white  hair  falling  to  his  shoulders.  His 
expression  has  more  penetration  than  sweetness, 
and  certain  vertical  lines  between  the  brows 
reveal  an  unaccommodating  temper.  This  is 
certainly  no  ordinary  man ;  but  we  are  not 
surprised  that  he  had  many  enemies. 

In  1818,  four  years  after  the  death  of 
Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre,  a  less  realistic  work 
begins  to  idealize  his  features  for  posterity.  An 
engraving  by  Fr£de"ric  Lignon  from  a  drawing 
by  Girodet  represents  him  as  younger,  and  in 
an  attitude  of  inspiration.  There  is  an  almost 


2  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

heavenly  look  upon  his  innocent  face,  sur- 
rounded by  an  abundant  crop  of  hair  artistically 
curled  and  falling  to  his  shoulders.  Everything 
in  this  second  portrait  is  rounded  off  and 
toned  down,  and  this  is  only  the  beginning  of 
things.  The  type  created  by  Girodet  became 
more  angelic  and  more  devoid  of  significance  at 
each  new  reproduction.  The  eyes  get  larger,  the 
features  are  less  marked,  and  we  have  a  hero  of 
Romance,  a  dreamy,  sentimental  youth,  the 
apocryphal  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  which  a 
vignette  of  the  time  of  the  Restoration  shows  us, 
seated  at  a  cottage  door,  his  eyes  cast  up  to 
heaven,  his  handkerchief  in  his  hand,  while  his 
dog  fixes  his  eyes  tenderly  upon  him,  and  a 
negress  contemplates  him  with  rapture.  Legend 
has  decidedly  got  the  better  of  history.  An 
insipid  and  rather  ridiculous  silhouette  has 
insinuated  itself  in  the  place  of  a  countenance 
full  of  originality  and  energy. 

At  the  present  day  we  do  a  service  to  the 
author  of  Paul  and  Virginia  by  treating  him 
without  ceremony.  The  time  has  come  to 
resuscitate  him  as  he  appeared  to  his  contem- 
poraries, with  his  lined  forehead,  and  his  uneasy 
expression,  lest  the  mawkish  Bernardin  de  Saint- 
Pierre  invented  by  sentimentalists  should  make 
us  forget  altogether  the  real  man  who  dared  to 
disagree  with  the  philosophers,  and  to  beard  the 


Youth — Years  of  Travel.  3 

Academy.  One  appreciates  his  work  better, 
knowing  that  it  did  not  spring  from  a  purely 
elegiac  soul,  but  from  a  deliberate  and  dogged 
mind  which  knew  what  it  wanted,  and  did  not 
play  its  part  of  literary  pioneer  at  random. 

Jacques  Henri  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  was 
born  at  Havre  in  1737,  of  a  family  in  which 
there  was  little  common  sense,  but  great  preten- 
sions. The  father  believed  himself  to  be  of 
noble  origin,  and  was  never  tired  of  discoursing 
to  his  children  of  their  illustrious  ancestors. 
He  had  three  sons,  and  one  daughter.  One  of 
the  sons,  who  took  his  ancestral  glory  quite 
seriously,  unable  to  bear  up  against  the  mortifi- 
cations which  awaited  him  in  the  world,  went 
out  of  his  mind.  The  daughter,  refusing  with 
disdain  all  the  offers  of  marriage  she  received, 
repented  when  it  was  too  late,  and  ended  her 
days  in  sadness  and  obscurity.  The  mother 
was  good  and  kind,  free  from  vanity,  and  richly 
gifted  with  imagination.  Bernardin  was  fond  of 
relating  a  conversation  which  they  had  had 
together  when  he  was  quite  a  child  about  the 
growing  corn.  Mme.  de  Saint-Pierre  had 
explained  to  him  that  if  every  man  took  his 
sheaf  of  corn  there  would  not  be  enough  on  the 
earth  for  every  one,  from  which  they  came  to  the 
conclusion  "  that  God  multiplied  the  corn  when 
it  was  in  the  barns."  Here  we  have  already  the 


4  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

scheme  of  the  Etudes  de  la  Nature  and  we  need 
not  ask  from  whom  Bernardin  held  his  method 
of  reasoning. 

In  spite  of  the  touch  of  folly  which  spoilt 
some  members  of  the  family,  it  was  an  ideal 
home  for  the  children's  happiness.  The  life 
there  was  simple,  and  humble  friends  were  by  no 
means  despised.  A  servant  of  the  old-fashioned 
kind,  an  old  woman  called  Marie,  had  her  place 
in  it,  gave  her  advice  and  spoilt  the  children.  A 
Capucine  monk,  Brother  Paul,  would  bring 
sugar-plums  and  delight  the  whole  household 
with  his  stories,  which  bore  no  trace  of  morose 
religious  views.  Their  studies  were  a  little 
desultory,  their  recreations  delightfully  homely. 
They  gardened,  played  games  in  the  granary, 
paddled  about  on  the  sea-shore,  and  fought  with 
the  street  boys,  for  all  the  world  as  though  they 
had  no  belief  in  their  noble  ancestors.  Occa- 
sionally they  got  old  Marie  to  do  up  their 
hair  in  numberless  starched  curl-papers,  which 
stiffened  it  and  filled  the  good  woman  with 
admiration  ;  they  would  then  put  on  their  best 
clothes  and  go  to  visit  Bernardin's  godmother, 
Mme.  de  Bayard.  Those  were  happy  days. 

Mme.  de  Bayard  was  a  countess  of  ruined 
fortunes,  rather  too  fond  of  borrowing,  but  she 
had  been  at  the  court  of  Louis  XIV.  and  had 
known  La  Grande  Mademoiselle,  which  amounts 


Youth — Years  of  Travel.  5 

to  saying  that  M.  de  Saint-Pierre  thought  it 
due  to  his  aristocratic  dreams  to  get  her  to 
"name"  one  of  his  children,  as  they  called  it  in 
those  days.  The  honour  of  being  her  godson 
devolved  upon  the  future  author,  who  soon  learnt 
to  appreciate  his  good  luck.  Mme.  de  Bayard 
was  a  handsome  old  lady,  who  had  preserved  in 
her  changed  fortunes  manners  of  exquisite 
courtesy  and  the  airs  of  a  queen.  Reduced  to 
all  sorts  of  shifts,  and  constrained  at  such  times 
to  forget  her  pride,  no  sooner  had  she  obtained 
the  necessary  money  than  she  raised  her  head 
again,  and  hastened  to  prepare'  a  fete  for  those 
who  had  obliged  her  with  their  purse.  Her 
grace  and  dignity  of  manner  made  them  her 
slaves.  They  would  form  a  circle  round  her  to 
listen  to  her  stories  of  the  hero  Monsieur  le 
Prince,  of  Louis  XIV.,  amorous  and  gay,  of 
the  Grande  Mademoiselle,  grown  old,  and  still 
weeping  over  the  memory  of  the  ungrateful 
Lauzun,  of  the  wonders  of  Versailles,  and  of  the 
romantic  nocturnal  revels  on  the  grand  canal  at 
Fontainebleau.  She  told  such  good  stories,  had 
so  much  wit  and  cheerful  kindliness,  that  no  one 
ever  had  the  heart  to  ask  for  a  return  of  the 
loans  they  had  made  to  her. 

She  brought  into  play  the  same  fascinations 
to  win  the  heart  of  the  first  comer,  were  it  only  a 
child,  so  that  she  appeared  to  her  godson  as  a 


6  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

being  quite  apart,  dazzling  and  adorable.  He 
was  not  ignorant  of  the  straits  she  was  put  to, 
and  it  had  even  happened  to  him,  seeing  her  in 
tears,  to  slip  his  only  silver-piece  under  her 
cushion  ;  but  none  the  less  for  that  did  she  seem 
to  soar  above  him  in  a  superior  world.  Under 
her  faded  finery  she  was  to  him  the  personifica- 
tion of  supreme  elegance,  and  he  was  right. 
She  talked  as  no  one  else  in  Havre  knew  how 
to  talk,  and  in  listening  to  her  he  was  borne 
away  to  a  new  world  peopled  with  great  princes 
and  beautiful  princesses  who  welcomed  Mme. 
de  Bayard  with  distinction.  He  himself  became 
a  great  noble  and  showered  riches  upon  his 
beloved  godmother.  He  would  have  been  a 
poor  creature  not  to  prefer  these  beautiful 
dreams  to  gifts  of  any  kind,  and  besides,  the  old 
Countess  made  presents  just  as  she  gave  her 
fetes,  at  the  most  unexpected  moments.  M.  de 
Saint-Pierre  respected  her,  and  she  had  a  great 
influence,  and  it  was  always  a  beneficent  one 
upon  little  Bernardin's  early  education. 

He  was  not  an  easy  child  to  manage.  Some 
one  who  knew  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  very 
well,  and  who  loved  and  admired  him  greatly,1 
said  that  he  united  in  himself  all  the  good  and 

1  Aimd  Martin,  author  of  the  great  biography  entitled 
Memoirs  of  the  Life  and  Works  of  J.  H.  Bernardin  de 
Saint-Pierre,  [i  vol.  8vo.  1820.] 


Youth — Years  of  Travel.  7 

all  the  bad  qualities  of  his  brothers  and  his  sister 
who  were  themselves  neither  ordinary  nor 
accommodating,  with  the  exception,  perhaps,  of 
the  youngest  of  the  boys.  They  were  a  nervous 
race,  full  of  ambition,  prompt  to  illusion,  and 
bitterly  resenting  deception  and  injustice.  "A 
single  thorn,"  said  Bernardin,  "  gives  me  more 
pain  than  the  odour  of  a  hundred  roses  gives 
me  pleasure."  He  did  not  exaggerate,  nature 
had  exquisitely  adapted  him  for  suffering. 

From  his  earliest  years  he  showed  himself  to 
be  of  an  unequal  temper,  which  his  father  utterly 
failed  to  understand.  The  child  was  often  lost 
in  the  clouds,  or  absorbed  in  the  contemplation 
of  a  blade  of  grass,  a  flower,  or  a  fly.  One  day 
when  M.  de  Saint-Pierre  was  calling  his  atten- 
tion to  the  beauties  of  the  spires  of  the  Cathe- 
dral of  Rouen,  he  cried  out  in  a  sort  of  ecstacy  : 
"  Ah,  how  high  they  fly ! "  He  had  only 
noticed  the  swallows  wheeling  about  in  the  air. 
His  father  looked  upon  him  as  an  idiot,  a 
strange  undisciplined  creature,  and  he  was  very 
far  from  guessing  at  what  was  taking  place  in 
the  mind  of  his  little  son.  The  boy  had  un- 
earthed from  a  cabinet  an  enormous  folio  con- 
taining "all  the  visions  of  the  hermits  of  the 
Desert,"  taken  from  the  Lives  of  the  Saints.  It 
became  his  habitual  study,  and  from  it  he 
learnt  that  God  comes  to  the  help  of  all  those 


8  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

who  call  upon  Him.  There  could,  therefore,  be 
nothing  for  him  to  fear  from  his  masters,  his 
parents,  old  Marie,  or  in  fact  from  any  one.  He 
could  abandon  himself  in  peace  to  his  beautiful 
dreams,  and  withdraw  himself  into  the  ideal 
world,  where  his  imagination  showed  him  only 
tenderness,  flowers,  and  sunshine.  In  case  of 
need  he  would  call  God  to  his  aid,  and  God 
would  surely  deliver  him. 

He  did  in  fact  call  upon  Him,  and  God  came, 
as  He  always  comes  to  those  who  cry  to  Him  in 
faith.  One  day,  when  his  mother  had  punished 
him  unjustly,  he  prayed  to  heaven  to  open  the 
door  of  his  prison,  and  to  make  known  his 
innocence.  The  door  remained  closed,  but  a 
ray  of  sunlight  suddenly  pierced  the  gloom  and 
lighted  up  the  window.  The  little  prisoner  fell 
upon  his  knees,  and  burst  into  tears  in  a  trans- 
port of  joy.  The  miracle  was  accomplished.  It 
is  with  a  ray  of  sunshine  that  God  has  ever 
opened  the  prisons  of  His  children. 

But  the  more  Providence  showed  an  interest 
in  him,  the  more  ungovernable  he  became.  The 
child  so  gentle,  so  compassionate  to  animals, 
became  passionate  and  violent,  whenever  the 
shocks  of  real  life  unhinged  him,  so  that  he  was 
almost  beside  himself.  His  father  raged,  and 
then  it  was  that  the  godmother  interfered.  She, 
who  understood  it  all,  found  her  godson  interest- 


Youth — Years  of  Travel.  9 

ing,  and  while  she  comforted  him  tenderly,  she 
pacified  and  reassured  his  parents.  To  her  he 
owed  his  recall  from  exile  after  some  innocent 
escapade  which  had  terrified  his  family.  To  her 
he  owed  some  of  his  masters.  To  her  he  owed 
the  book  which  determined  the  bent  of  his  mind, 
and  the  influence  of  which  one  can  trace  every- 
where in  his  works  :  Robinson  Crusoe. 

Mme.  de  Bayard  had  made  him  a  present 
of  it,  just  at  a  moment  when  it  was  thought 
necessary  to  change  the  current  of  his  thoughts. 
Before  he  was  twelve  he  had  set  his  heart  upon 
becoming  a  Capucine  monk,  ever  since  the  time 
when  Brother  Paul  had  taken  him  with  him  for 
a  tour  on  foot  through  Normandy.  The  journey 
had  been  a  perpetual  enchantment,  one  long 
junketing.  They  stopped  at  the  convents,  at  the 
country  houses,  with  well-to-do  peasants,  and 
there  was  nothing  but  feasting  and  kindliness 
everywhere.  Brother  Paul  told  stories  all  the 
way,  the  weather  was  fine,  the  fields  were  in 
bloom,  and  little  Bernardin  adored  nature, 
whom  nobody  just  then  seemed  to  think  much 
about,  with  the  exception  of  one  other  dreamer 
who  had  found  her  "  dead  in  the  eyes  of  men," 
and  who  was  just  then  engaged  in  resuscitating 
her  But  as  yet  young  Saint-Pierre  did  not  even 
know  the  name  of  J.  J.  Rousseau.  He  only 
knew  that  in  the  country  "  the  air  is  pure,  the 


io  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

landscape  smiling,  walking  pleasant,  and  living 
easy " ;  that  he  was  very  happy,  and  never 
wished  to  do  anything  else  in  the  future  than  to 
watch  the  growth  of  the  plants,  and  listen  to 
the  woodland  sounds.  He  made  up  his  mind  to 
take  the  monk's  habit  and  staff  in  order  to  be 
able  to  spend  the  rest  of  his  days  wandering 
about  the  lanes,  and  this  resolution  he  announced 
as  soon  as  he  reached  home.  His  father  laughed 
at  him,  his  godmother  gave  him  Robinson 
Crusoe. 

This  book  had  a  great  influence  upon  his 
career.  It  suggested  to  him  the  idea  of  his 
famous  island,  where  Friday  was  replaced  by  a 
people  whom  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre,  by  wise 
laws  and  by  force  of  example,  had  recalled  to 
the  "  innocence  of  the  golden  age."  The  more 
he  reflected  upon  it  the  more  the  enterprise 
appeared  to  him  practicable  and  worthy  of  a 
man's  powers,  so  much  so  that,  having  served  as 
the  sport  of  his  imagination,  it  became  the  aim 
of  his  existence.  After  some  months,  no  longer 
able  to  curb  his  impatience,  he  obtained  leave 
to  embark  for  Martinique  in  a  vessel  belonging  to 
one  of  his  uncles.  It  seemed  to  him  quite  impos- 
sible that  he  should  not  find  somewhere  on  the 
wide  ocean  a  desert  island,  of  which  he  would 
make  himself  king.  Nevertheless,  the  impossible 
happened,  and  he  returned  to  Havre  greatly  dis- 


Youth —  Years  of  Travel.  1 1 

appointed  but  not  discouraged.  While  awaiting 
another  opportunity  he  matured  his  plans,  in 
which  the  suppression  of  all  schools  held  a  pro- 
minent place.  Time  only  served  to  strengthen 
him  in  his  design,  and  we  shall  find  him  giving 
up  the  best  part  of  his  youth  to  the  search  for  his 
island.  His  long  journeys  had  no  other  object. 
Being  unable  to  find  it,  he  wished  at  least  to 
demonstrate  to  the  world  what  it  might  have  been, 
and  he  laboured  indefatigably  to  describe  it.  One 
of  the  results  of  this  fortunate  obstinacy  is  en- 
titled Paul  and  Virginia.  We  can  understand 
that  Bernardin  always  preserved  a  feeling  of  the 
liveliest  gratitude  towards  his  godmother  and 
towards  Robinson  Crusoe. 

It  was  again  Mme.  de  Bayard,  who  on  his 
return  from  Martinique  interposed  to  see  that 
he  finished  his  studies.  M.  de  Saint-Pierre  did 
not  trouble  himself  about  it,  being  discouraged 
by  the  capricious  and  senseless  method  in  which 
his  incorrigible  son  studied.  He  yielded,  how- 
ever, and  sent  Bernardin  to  the  Jesuits  at  Caen, 
who  completed  the  work  begun  by  the  Lives  of 
the  Saints  and  Robinson  Crusoe.  They  made 
their  pupils  read  the  narratives  of  their  mission- 
aries, and  those  great  voyages  to  foreign  coun- 
tries, the  daring  adventures,  the  sublime 
sufferings,  the  martyrs  and  the  miracles  finally 
set  on  fire  the  imagination  of  young  Bernardin 


12  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

He  worked  no  more,  played  no  more,  talked  no 
more,  entirely  given  up  to  his  determined  reso- 
lution that  he  also  would  become  a  missionary 
and  go  upon  these  wonderful  voyages,  and  be  a 
martyr  too.  The  Jesuit  father  in  whom  he  con- 
fided, smiled,  but  did  not  discourage  him.  M. 
de  Saint-Pierre  hastened  to  recall  him,  and  old 
Marie  went  to  meet  him  outside  the  town  to  say, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes,  "  Then  you  mean  to  be- 
come a  Jesuit?  "  That  was  the  first  blow  to  his 
vocation.  The  grief  of  his  mother,  and  the 
lectures  of  Brother  Paul  finally  put  an  end  to 
it,  and  he  thought  no  more  of  becoming  a 
martyr. 

He  had  suffered  an  irreparable  loss  during  his 
sojourn  at  Caen.  Mme.  de  Bayard  was  dead  ; 
there  was  no  longer  any  one  to  pour  peace  into 
that  restless  and  sombre  nature.  It  became 
more  and  more  true  that  "alt  his  sensations 
developed  at  once  into  passions,"  and  more  than 
ever  he  sought  a  refuge  from  reality  in  dreams 
which  his  age  made  dangerous.  Eager  for  soli- 
tude, isolated  in  the  midst  of  his  companions, 
he  became  absorbed  in  his  visionary  projects, 
and  expended  upon  the  phantoms  of  his  imagi- 
nation the  vague  emotions  that  oppressed  him. 

He  sustained  another  loss  equally  calamitous 
to  him  though  for  very  different  reasons.  His 
mother  died  while  he  was  finishing  his  studies 


Youth — Years  of  Travel.  13 

at  Rouen,  and  with  her  disappeared  the  peace- 
ful joys  and  sunshine  of  the  home,  and  her  son 
was  astonished  to  discover  that  at  the  first  vaca- 
tion he  had  no  longer  any  wish  to  return  there. 

The  thought  was  new  and  painful.  The  fol- 
lowing year  he  went  to  Paris,  with  the  intention 
of  becoming  an  engineer,  and  when  he  had  been 
there  a  year,  he  heard  that  his  father  had  married 
again  and  was  no  longer  to  be  counted  upon  to 
help  his  sons.  One  of  them  was  a  sailor,  the 
other  a  soldier.  Bernardin  found  himself  alone  in 
the  streets  of  Paris,  without  money,  and  almost 
without  friends.  His  real  education  was  about 
to  commence.  He  was  twenty-three,  good-look- 
ing, very  impressionable,  with  a  delicate,  keen 
imagination,  courage,  and  unstable  character. 

Almost  all  his  biographers  have  deplored  the 
use  he  made  of  his  time  up  to  the  age  of  thirty 
and  after.  It  is  true  that  in  the  eyes  of  prudent 
people,  who  approve  of  a  regulated  career  with 
promotion  at  stated  intervals,  his  entrance  into 
the  world  must  appear  absurd,  even  reprehen- 
sible. No  one  could  make  a  worse  bungle  of 
his  future  than  he  did,  his  excuse  is  that  it  was 
not  intentional.  On  the  contrary,  he  took  great 
pains  to  seek  appointments,  and  believed  him- 
self to  be  a  model  employe".  But  instinct, 
stronger  than  reason,  constantly  drove  him 
from  a  line  which  was  not  his  own.  He  has 


14  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

very  happily  expressed  in  one  of  his  works *  the 
combat  which  takes  place  under  such  circum- 
stances in  a  highly-endowed  mind. 

He  has  just  said  that  among  animals,  it  is 
upon  the  innate  and  permanent  instinct  of 
each  species  that  depend  their  character,  their 
manners  and,  perhaps,  even  their  expression. 
"  The  instincts  of  animals,  which  are  so  varied," 
he  continues,  "  seem  to  be  distributed  in  each 
one  of  us  in  the  form  of  secret  inward  impulses 
which  influence  all  our  lives.  Our  whole  life 
consists  in  nothing  else  but  their  development, 
and  it  is  these  impulses,  when  our  reason  is  in 
conflict  with  them,  which  inspire  us  with  im- 
movable constancy,  and  deliver  us  up  among 
our  fellows  to  perpetual  conflicts  with  others 
and  with  ourselves."  Bernardin  de  Saint- Pierre 
knew  of  these  struggles  with  instinct  by  his 
own  experience.  Thanks  to  them  he  was  so 
fortunate  as  to  succeed  in  nothing  for  twelve 
years,  and  to  be  in  the  end  obliged  to  abandon 
himself  in  despair  to  those  "secret  inward 
impulses,"  which  predestined  him  to  take  up  the 
pen.  But  prudent  people  have  never  forgiven 
him  for  his  inability  to  settle  down,  and  they  have 
suggested  that  his  conduct  was  detestable. 

He  entered  the  army  with  the  greatest  ease, 

1  Harmonies  of  Nature,  book  v. 


Yoitth — Years  of  Travel.  15 

owing,  as  it  happened,  to  a  misunderstanding. 
They  were  just  in  the  middle  of  the  Seven  Years' 
War,  and  a  great  personage  to  whom  Bernardin 
had  applied  mistook  him  for  somebody  else 
and  without  any  further  investigation  gave  him 
a  commission  in  the  Engineers.  He  went 
through  the  campaign  of  1760,  fell  out  with 
his  superior  officers,  and  was  dismissed.  On 
his  return  to  France,  having  been  to  see  his 
father,  his  stepmother  made  him  feel  that  he 
was  not  wanted,  and  he  returned  to  Paris  as 
destitute  and  lonely  as  it  is  possible  to  be. 
Youth  takes  these  things  to  heart,  and  by  reason 
of  them  bears  a  grudge  against  the  world  and 
life. 

The  following  year  he  succeeded  in  being 
sent  to  Malta,  quarrelled  with  his  superiors  and 
with  his  comrades,  and  was  shelved.  From  his 
return  from  Malta  we  may  date  the  first  of  the 
innumerable  memorials  he  wrote  upon  all 
subjects — administrative,  political,  commercial, 
military,  moral,  scientific,  educational,  philan- 
thropic, and  Utopian — with  which  he  never 
ceased  from  that  time  to  overwhelm  the  min- 
isters and  their  offices,  his  friends  and  protectors ; 
in  fact,  the  whole  universe,  and  which  made 
many  people  look  upon  him  as  a  plague.  One 
cannot  with  impunity  undertake  to  be  a  reformer 
and  to  make  the  happiness  of  the  human  race 


1 6  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

Bernardin  was  eager  to  point  out  to  men  in 
office  the  mistakes  and  faults  in  their  ad- 
ministration, and  to  suggest  innovations  in  the 
interests  of  the  public  good,  and  he  was 
unaffectedly  astonished  at  their  ingratitude. 
He  claimed  recompense  for  his  good  advice, 
and  received  no  answer ;  he  insisted,  got  angry, 
and  ended  by  exasperating  the  most  kindly 
disposed,  even  his  old  friend  Hennin,  Chief 
Clerk  in  the  Foreign  Office,  who  was  obliged 
to  write  to  him  one  day :  "  You  deceive  your- 
self sir,  the  King  owes  you  nothing,  because 
you  have  not  acted  by  his  orders.  Your 
memorials,  however  useful  they  may  be,  do  not 
in  the  least  entitle  you  to  ask  favours  from  the 
King  as  a  matter  of  right."  Such  lessons,  only 
too  well  deserved,  irritated  the  simple-minded 
petitioner,  who  had  struck  out  the  forgiveness 
of  injuries  from  amongst  the  duties  of  philan- 
thropy. "  I  have  always  needed  the  courage," 
he  said,  "to  forgive  an  insult,  do  what  I  will 
the  scar  remains,  unless  the  occasion  arises  for 
returning  good  for  evil  ;  for  any  one  under  an 
obligation  to  me  is  as  sacred  in  my  sight  as 
a  benefactor."  In  the  midst  of  his  self-torment 
he  began  again,  and  his  affairs  went  from  bad  to 
worse. 

Meanwhile  he  had  to  live.     In  the  ministry 
they  gave   him    no    hope  whatever    of    being 


Youth — Years  of  Travel.  17 

restored  to  his  rank.  He  had  written  to  all 
his  relations  to  ask  for  help,  and  had  received 
nothing  but  refusals.  He  had  given  lessons  in 
mathematics  and  lost  his  pupils.  The  baker 
refused  to  give  him  credit  any  longer,  and  his 
landlady  threatened  to  turn  him  out  of  doors. 
There  was  no  other  resource  left  to  him  but 
to  found  his  kingdom,  which,  upon  reflection,  he 
had  converted  into  a  republic.  It  was  to  this 
that  he  devoted  himself  without  further  delay. 

He  no  longer  thought  it  essential  that  it 
should  be  an  island  ;  any  desert  would  suffice, 
provided  it  had  a  fertile  soil  and  a  good  climate. 
He  fixed  his  choice  upon  the  shores  of  the  Sea 
of  Aral,  and  at  once  set  about  his  preparations 
for  departure ;  which  consisted  in  taking  his 
books  to  the  second-hand  bookseller,  and  his 
clothes  to  the  old-clothes  man,  and  in  borrow- 
ing right  and  left  a  few  crowns.  He  thus 
scraped  together  a  few  sovereigns,  and  took 
the  diligence  to  Brussels,  whence  he  counted 
on  reaching  Russia  and  the  Sea  of  Aral.  Why 
Russia?  Why  the  Sea  of  Aral?  He  has  given 
his  reasons  in  a  pamphlet,  in  which  he  goes  back 
to  the  Scythian  migration,  to  Odin  and  Cornelius 
Nepos,  and  which  explains  nothing,  unless  it  is 
that  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  became  almost 
a  visionary  when  his  hobby  was  in  question. 
Here  are  the  reasons  which  he  gives  for  his 
3 


1 8  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

choice :  "  If  there  were  some  place  upon  earth, 
under  a  bright  sky,  where  one  could  find  at  one 
and  the  same  time,  honour,  riches,  and  society, 
all  due  to  the  security  of  possession,  that  place 
would  soon  be  filled  with  inhabitants.  This 
happy  country  is  to  be  found  on  the  east  coast  of 
the  Caspian  Sea  ;  but  the  Tartars  who  inhabit 
it  have  only  made  of  it  a  desert."  That  is  all. 
On  the  other  hand,  a  note  at  the  bottom  of  the 
page  shows  us  where  the  future  legislator  had 
sought  his  models,  reserving  to  himself  the 
liberty  to  improve  upon  them.  "  The  English 
peopled  Pennsylvania  with  no  other  invitation 
than  this  :  He  who  shall  here  plant  a  tree  shall 
gather  the  fruits  tliereof.  That  is  tlie  whole  spirit 
of  the  law"  This  note  was  the  reply  to  a  famous 
apostrophe  in  the  Discours  sur  finegalite  of 
J.  J.  Rousseau. 

"  The  first  man  who,  having  enclosed  a  terri- 
tory, ventured  to  say  this  is  mine,  and  who 
found  people  simple  enough  to  believe  him,  was 
the  real  founder  of  civil  society.  How  many 
crimes,  wars,  murders,  miseries  and  horrors, 
would  he  not  have  spared  the  human  race 
who  should  have  pulled  up  the  stakes,  filled 
in  the  ditch,  and  cried  to  his  fellows,  '  Beware 
of  listening  to  this  impostor ;  you  are  lost  if 
you  forget  that  tJte  fruits  of  the  earth  are  for 
all,  and  that  the  earth  belongs  to  no  man' " 


Youth — Years  of  Travel.  19 

One  might  point  out  other  disagreements 
between  the  Discours  sur  Vinegalite  and  the 
pamphlet  upon  the  colony  of  the  Sea  of  Aral, 
but  they  all  bear  upon  questions  of  detail.  Jean 
Jacques  and  Bernardin  agree  at  bottom  as  to 
the  end  to  aim  at  and  the  path  to  follow.  Young 
Saint-Pierre  was  already  and  for  ever  a  disciple 
of  Rousseau.  He  steeped  himself  in  his  phil- 
osophy, in  anticipation  of  the  day  when  he  was 
to  come  to  him  for  lessons  in  sentiment.  Master 
and  pupil  both  believed  that  our  ills  come  from 
society.  Nature  arranged  everything  for  our 
happiness,  and  man  was  good  ;  •  if  we  are  wicked 
and  unhappy  the  fault  is  in  ourselves,  who  have 
provoked  the  evil  by  disregarding  her  laws. 
One  can  easily  see  the  consequences  of  these 
misanthropical  views.  As  we  have  been  the 
authors  of  our  own  unhappiness  and  know  where 
we  have  been  mistaken,  there  is  certainly  a 
remedy.  It  rests  with  us  to  overcome  most 
of  our  sufferings  by  reforming  society,  and 
changing  our  laws  and  our  morality.  Humanity 
only  needs  a  clear-sighted  and  courageous  guide, 
who  would  dare  to  fling  in  its  face  its  follies  and 
cruelties — who  would  bring  it  back  into  the 
right  path.  Rousseau  was  this  guide  in  words 
and  on  paper;  Saint-Pierre  wished  to  become 
the  same  in  deed  and  in  fact.  He  purposed  to 
put  into  practice  what  his  century  was  dreaming 


2O  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

of,  and  that  is  why  he  set  out  one  fine  night 
for  a  fabulous  country.  One  may  maintain  that 
he  could  have  found  other  and  more  useful  ways 
of  employing  his  time,  but,  at  least,  his  way 
was  not  commonplace  or  egotistical. 

He  travelled  as  an  apostle,  solely  occupied 
with  his  mission,  trusting  to  Providence  to  bring 
him  with  his  150  francs  to  the  feet  of  Peter  III.  ; 
for  it  was  from  the  Emperor  of  Russia  that  he 
meant  to  ask  help  and  protection  to  found  his 
ideal  republic,  by  which  should  be  demonstrated 
the  vast  inferiority  of  monarchies.  He  never 
doubted  but  that  the  Czar  would  share  his  zeal, 
then  why  disturb  himself  about  the  means  of 
accomplishing  his  design  ?  Had  he  not  in  old 
times  travelled  with  brother  Paul  without  money 
and  without  thought  for  the  morrow  ?  Had  he 
come  to  any  harm  from  it  ?  What  people  gave 
to  the  mendicant  friar  for  the  love  of  God,  they 
would  give  to  him  for  the  love  of  humanity. 
And  so  it  turned  out.  He  arrived  in  Russia 
after  having  spent  his  last  crown  at  the  Hague. 
His  journey  had  been  a  perpetual  miracle.  One 
lent  him  money,  another  lodged  him,  a  third 
introduced  him  to  others  because  of  his  good 
looks.  At  Amsterdam  they  even  offered  him  a 
situation  and  a  wife,  which  he  did  not  think  it 
right  to  accept  because  of  his  republic.  He  felt 
that  he  owed  a  duty  to  his  people. 


Youth — Years  of  Travel.  21 

He  landed  at  St.  Petersburg  with  six  francs 
in  his  pocket,  and  the  miracle  continued.  He 
did  not  dine  every  day,  thank  heaven  !  or  the 
romance  would  have  had  no  further  interest. 
But  on  the  eve  of  dying  of  hunger  he  always 
encountered  some  generous  person  who,  like  his 
godmother,  thought  him  interesting.  He  must 
indeed  have  been  charming,  this  fine  young 
fellow,  full  of  fire  and  good  faith,  starting  out 
from  his  garret  to  regenerate  the  world.  So 
much  so  indeed  that,  passed  on  from  one  to 
another,  from  introduction  to  introduction,  he 
arrived  at  last  in  the  train  of  a  general  at 
Moscow,  where  the  court  then  was,  received  a 
commission  as  sub-lieutenant  of  Engineers,  and 
replaced  the  clothes  sold  to  the  old-clothes  man 
in  Paris  by  a  brilliant  uniform.  When  his  new 
friends  saw  him  in  his  scarlet  coat  with  black 
facings,  his  fawn-coloured  waistcoat,  his  white 
silk  stockings,  his  beautiful  plume,  and  his 
glittering  sword,  they  foretold  a  great  fortune 
for  him.  One  of  them  called  him  cousin,  and 
offered  to  present  him  to  the  Empress  Catherine, 
whom  the  Revolution  of  1762  had  just  placed 
upon  the  throne.  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre 
was  transported  with  joy  at  this  proposal.  It 
was  only  four  months  since  he  had  quitted 
France,  and  he  already  neared  his  goal.  Provi- 
dence evidently  watched  over  his  republic. 


22  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

What  remained  for  him  to  do  appeared  mere 
child's  play  after  what  he  had  accomplished. 
His  pamphlet  upon  his  projected  colony  was 
ready — it  was  the  same  from  which  we  have 
quoted  some  fragments  above — and  it  was  not 
too  ill-conceived.  In  it  the  author  spoke  little 
of  the  happiness  of  peoples,  and  much  of  the 
utility  to  Russia  of  securing  a  route  to  the 
Indies.  The  settlement  which  he  proposed  to 
found  on  the  Sea  of  Aral  lost  under  his  pen  its 
doubtful  character  as  a  philosophical  and 
humanitarian  enterprise,  to  take  on  the  inno- 
cent aspect  of  a  military  colony  intended  to 
keep  the  Tartars  in  check,  and  to  serve  as  an 
emporium  for  merchandise  from  India.  In  fact 
he  thought  he  ought  to  support  it  with  a  speech, 
which  he  composed,  his  Plutarch  in  his  hand, 
and  in  which  he  celebrated  "  the  happiness  of 
kings  who  establish  republics."  But  this 
speech  had  no  unpleasant  consequences  as  we 
shall  see  presently. 

On  the  day  appointed  for  the  audience  he  put 
his  pamphlet  in  his  pocket,  glanced  over  his 
speech,  and  followed  his  guide  to  the  palace. 
They  entered  a  magnificent  gallery,  full  of  great 
nobles  glittering  with  gold  and  precious  stones, 
who  inspired  our  young  enthusiast  on  the  spot 
with  keen  repugnance.  There  they  were  those 
vile  slaves  of  monarchy,  whose  lying  tongues 


Youth — Years  of  Travel.  23 

knew  no  other  language  than  that  of  flattery ! 
What  would  be  their  surprise,  what  their  attitude, 
on  hearing  a  free  man  speak  boldly  of  freedom 
to  their  sovereign  ?  All  at  once  the  door  was 
thrown  open  with  a  loud  noise,  the  Empress 
appeared,  every  one  was  silent  and  remained 
motionless.  The  grand  master  of  the  cere- 
monies presented  M.  de  Saint-Pierre,  who  kissed 
her  hand,  and  forgot  his  pamphlet,  his  speech 
imitated  from  Plutarch,  his  republic,  all  man- 
kind, and  only  remembered  how  to  reply 
gallantly  to  the  great  lady  who  deigned  to 
smile  upon  his  youth  and  his  beautiful  blue 
eyes. 

And  thus  was  buried  for  ever  the  project  of 
a  colony  by  the  Sea  of  Aral.  The  author  took 
it  the  next  morning  to  the  favourite  of  the  day, 
Prince  Orloff,  and  explained  its  advantages  to 
him  without  being  able  to  inspire  him  with  the 
least  interest.  The  Prince  indeed  seemed 
relieved  when  they  came  to  tell  him  that  the 
Empress  was  asking  for  him.  "  He  waited  upon 
her  at  once  in  his  slippers  and  dressing-gown, 
and  left  M.  de  Saint-Pierre  profoundly  distressed 
and  in  a  mood  to  write  a  satire  against  favourites."1 
He  returned,  intensely  discomfited,  to  his  room 
at  the  inn,  and  took  up  the  education  of  his  man- 
servant while  awaiting  another  opportunity  of 
1  Aime  Martin. 


24  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

founding  his  ideal  republic.  His  servant  was  a 
poor  devil  of  a  moujik,  who  had  been  kidnapped 
from  his  family  and  made  a  soldier,  and  who  would 
sing,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  sweet  and  melancholy 
folk  songs.  He  would  put  his  master's  shoes 
into  a  bucket  of  water  to  clean  them,  only  taking 
them  out  when  they  were  wanted.  Bernardin 
de  Saint-Pierre,  having  taught  him  how  to  brush 
a  coat,  he  was  ready  to  throw  himself  at  his  feet 
and  adore  him  as  a  superior  being. 

Meanwhile  his  master  remained  inconsolable 
at  having  by  his  own  fault  failed  to  accomplish 
the  happiness  of  mankind.  Russia  had  lost  its 
attraction,  he  now  only  saw  in  it  matter  for  dis- 
gust and  anger,  and  he  was  angry  with  himself 
for  having  come  so  far  simply  to  contemplate 
"slaves"  and  "  victims."  His  profession  bored 
him.  He  had  addressed  to  the  Russian  govern- 
ment several  memorials  upon  the  military  posi- 
tion and  means  of  defence  of  Finland,  whither 
his  duties  as  officer  of  Engineers  had  called  him, 
and  his  labours  had  met  with  no  better  fortune 
there  than  in  France  ;  nobody  paid  any  atten- 
tion to  it  Anger  grew  upon  him,  then  bitter- 
ness, and  he  seized  upon  the  first  pretext  to  send 
in  his  resignation,  and  cross  the  frontier  in  order 
to  seek  elsewhere  a  "  land  of  liberty  "  where  the 
antique  virtues  still  lived.  A  happy  inspiration 
induced  him  with  this  idea  to  follow  the  road 


Youth — Years  of  Travel.  25 

through  Poland  where  the  people  were  at  that 
time  the  most  oppressed  and  most  miserable  in 
Europe.  At  sight  of  Warsaw  "  he  felt  in  his 
heart  all  the  virtues  of  a  republican  hero." 

They  did  not  remain  with  him  long;  other  and 
more  tender  interests  were  soon  to  replace  them. 
Warsaw  is  the  scene  of  the  romance  of  his  youth, 
the  adventure  that  his  imagination  as  time  went 
on  turned  into  a  devouring  passion,  which  he 
ended  in  believing  in  himself,  and  which  his 
biographers  have  related  sometimes  with  virtuous 
indignation,  accusing  him  of  having  lived  for 
more  than  a  year  at  the  expense  of  a  woman, 
sometimes  with  the  respect  due  to  great  suffer- 
ings and  unmerited  misfortunes.  Unhappily  or 
happily,  some  letters  of  his,  published  for  the 
first  time  thirty  years  ago,  *  show  him  to  have 
been  at  once  less  culpable  and  less  worthy  of 
compassion.  These  letters  are  addressed  to  a 
friend  in  Russia,  M.  Duval,  a  Genevese  merchant 
established  at  St.  Petersburg.  In  them  Saint- 
Pierre  speaks  of  his  love  affairs  with  the  indiscre- 
tion of  youth  and  the  vanity  of  a  bourgeois 
anxious  to  announce  to  the  world  that  he  has 
made  a  conquest  of  a  princess.  It  is  amusing 
to  compare  this  sincere  report,  confirmed  by  the 
Correspondence  published  in  his  complete  works,2 

1  In  the  appendix  to  vol.  vi.  of  the  Causeries  du  lundi. 

2  Three  vols.   in  8vo.,  edited  by  Aimd  Martin,  Paris, 
1826,  Ladvocat. 


26  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

with  the  official  story  no  less  sincere,  which  the 
hero  of  the  adventure  liked  to  circulate  in  his 
old  age. 

He  arrived  at  Warsaw  on  the  I7th  of  June, 
1764,  and  was  at  once  received  into  the  houses 
of  several  of  the  nobility.  Some  weeks  passed 
in  festivities,  which  gave  him  more  just  views 
upon  the  subject  of  Polish  austerity,  and  the 
antique  virtues  of  the  country,  and  he  very  soon 
wished  to  leave.  On  the  28th  of  July  he  wrote 
to  his  friend  Hennin  :  "  You  think  my  position 
here  agreeable,  so  it  appears  from  afar,  but  if 
you  only  knew  how  empty  is  the  world  in  which 
I  wander  ;  if  you  knew  how  much  these  dances 
and  grand  repasts  stupefy  without  amusing  me !  " 
He  then  begs  M.  Hennin  to  use  his  interest  for 
him  at  Versailles,  and  to  obtain  for  him  a  mission 
to  Turkey,  "  the  finest  country  in  the  world  as  he 
has  been  told." 

On  the  2oth  of  August  there  is  another  letter 
to  M.  Hennin,  in  which  he  shows  that  he  is 
more  and  more  impatient  to  leave  Poland  :  "  If 
nothing  keeps  me  here  I  shall  leave  in  the 
beginning  of  the  month  of  September  for  ... 
Vienna,  for  I  am  tired  of  so  much  idleness,  of 
which  the  least  evil  is  that  I  am  growing  accus- 
tomed to  an  indolent  life."  This  is  certainly  not 
the  language  of  a  man  desperately  in  love, 
whose  heart  would  be  broken  if  one  tore  him 


Youth — Years  of  Travel.  27 

away  from  the  spot  where  his  divinity  breathed. 
But  if  we  believe  the  legend,  that  was,  however, 
the  moment  in  which  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre 
surpassed  the  passion  of  Saint-Preux,  and  lived 
the  life  of  The  Modern  Heloise,  because  it  was 
his  fate  to  realise  all  that  Rousseau  had  been 
content  to  write  about,  as  well  in  his  romances 
as  in  his  plans  of  social  reform.  This  is  briefly 
what  the  legend  tells  us. 

Among  the  persons  who  had  thrown  open 
their  doors  to  him  at  Warsaw,  was  a  young 
princess  named  Marie  Miesnik,  remarkable  for 
"  her  love  of  virtue."  We  •  see  that  this  is 
exactly  the  starting-point  of  The  Modern  Heloise> 
a  plebeian  falls  in  love  with  a  patrician.  "  From 
the  first  day,"  says  Aime"  Martin,  "  M.  de  Saint- 
Pierre  felt  the  double  ascendancy  of  her  genius 
and  her  beauty,  and  she  became  at  once  the  sole 
thought  of  his  life."  On  her  side  the  Julia  of 
Poland  did  not  remain  insensible.  We  pass 
over  the  emotions  which  filled  and  lacerated 
their  souls  to  the  day  blessed  and  fatal,  when 
overtaken  by  a  storm  in  a  lonely  forest,  they  re- 
peated the  scene  of  the  groves  of  Clarens,  adding 
thereto  recollections  of  Dido's  grotto.  "  She 
gave  herself  up  like  Julia,  and  he  was  delirious 
with  joy  like  Saint-Preux,"  continues  Aime 
Martin,  whose  phrase  proves  how  much  the 
resemblance  with  The  Modern  Helo'ise  was  part 


28  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

of  the  tradition.  Long  intoxication  followed 
these  first  raptures.  More  than  a  year  passed  in 
forgetfulness  of  the  -wJwle  world,  but  Princess 
Marie's  family  began,  like  Julia's,  to  be  irritated 
with  the  insolence  of  this  plebeian  who  dared  to 
make  love  to  a  Miesnik,  and  the  end  of  it  was  an 
order  to  depart,  given  by  the  lady  to  her  lover, 
like  Rousseau  again,  and  which  was  obeyed  with 
the  same  passionate  lamentations. 

That  is  what  time  and  a  little  good-will 
made  of  the  adventure  of  Warsaw.  Now  for 
history. 

We  have  seen  just  now  that  nothing  bound 
Bernardin  de  Saint- Pierre  to  Warsaw  on  the 
2Oth  of  August,  1764.  Fifteen  days  after,  the 
5th  of  September,  he  writes  to  M.  Duval  at  St. 
Petersburg  :  "  I  must  tell  you,  my  dear  friend, 
for  I  hide  nothing  from  you,  that  I  have  formed 
an  attachment  here  which  almost  deserves  to  be 
called  a  passion.  It  has  had  a  good  effect  in 
that  it  has  cured  me  of  my  humours.  Love  is 
therefore  a  good  remedy  to  recommend  to  you 
above  all,  love  gratified.  I  have  had  such  a 
pleasant  experience  of  it,  that  I  impart  it  to  you 
as  an  infallible  secret,  which  will  be  as  useful 
to  you  as  to  me.  My  hypochondria  is  almost 
cured. 

"I  might  flatter  my  self-love  by  naming  to 
you  the  object  of  my  passion,  but  you  know  I 


Youth — Years  of  Travel.  29 

have  more  delicacy  than  vanity.  I  have  then 
found  all  that  could  attach  me,  graces  without 
number,  wit  enough,  and  reciprocal  affection. 

"  Another  time  you  shall  know  more,  but  be 
persuaded  that  with  me  love  does  no  wrong  to 
friendship." 

We  are  a  long  way  from  the  genius,  the  in- 
toxicating beauty,  the  unheard-of  delights.  A 
young  man,  full  of  worries,  finds  distraction  and 
amuses  himself  with  a  lovely  young  lady  who 
has  "  enough  wit,"  and  who  is  not  unkind  to 
him.  He  is  really  in  love  with  her,  but  in  a 
quite  reasonable  manner,  for  he  writes  the  same 
day  to  Hennin,  then  at  Vienna,  that  the  approach 
of  the  bad  weather  obliges  him  to  make  up  his 
mind,  and  that  he  will  delay  no  longer  in  leaving 
Warsaw.  In  fact,  on  the  26th  of  September  he 
announces  his  departure  to  Duval  in  a  letter  of 
which  I  give  the  essential  passages : 

"  My  very  worthy  friend,  the  offers  which  you 
make  me,  the  interest  which  you  take  in  me, 
your  tender  attentions,  are  in  my  heart  subjects 
of  everlasting  attachment.  I  do  not  know  what 
Heaven  has  in  store  for  me,  but  it  has  never 
before  poured  so  much  joy  into  my  soul.  It  was 
something  to  have  given  me  a  friend,  love  has 
left  me  nothing  further  to  desire  ;  it  is  into  your 
bosom  that  I  pour  out  my  happiness. 

"  I  will  not  give  you  the  name  of  the  person 


30  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

who  after  you  holds  the  first  place  in  my  heart. 
Her  rank  is  high  above  mine,  her  beauty  not 
extraordinary,  but  her  graces  and  her  wit  merit 
all  the  homage  which  I  was  not  able  to  deny  to 
them.  I  have  received  help  from  her  which 
prevents  me  from  actually  accepting  your  offers. 
It  was  pressed  upon  me  so  tenderly,  that  I 
could  not  help  giving  it  the  preference.  I  beg 
you  to  forgive  me  for  it.  I  have  accepted 
from  her  about  the  value  of  the  sum  you  offered 
me.  .  .  . 

..."  I  am  spending  part  of  the  night  in 
writing  to  you.  I  start  to-morrow,  and  my 
trunks  are  not  yet  ready." 

One  is  sorry  to  learn  that  he  had  accepted 
money  from  his  Princess.  His  excuse,  if  there 
were  one  for  that  sort  of  thing,  will  be  found  in 
the  letter  of  The  Modern  Heloise,  where  Julia 
persuades  her  lover,  by  means  of  eloquent  invec- 
tive, to  receive  money  for  a  journey.  "  So  I 
offend  your  honour  for  which  I  would  a  thou- 
sand times  give  my  life  ?  I  offend  thine  honour, 
ungrateful  one  !  who  hast  found  me  ready  to 
abandon  mine  to  thee.  Where  is  then  this  honour 
which  I  offend,  tell  me,  grovelling  heart,  soul 
without  delicacy !  Ah  !  how  contemptible  art 
thou  if  thou  hast  but  one  honour  of  which  Julia 
does  not  know,"  &c.  Saint-Preux  had  submitted 
to  this  torrent.  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  imi- 


Youth — Years  of  Travel.  31 

tated  his  model  in  this  also.  See  where  literary 
loves  lead  one. 

He  left  Warsaw  on  the  2/th  of  September, 
after  remaining  there  three  months  and  some 
days.  Three  months  in  which  to  meet,  to  love, 
to  part,  was  really  the  least  one  could  allow. 
Certainly  there  was  an  epilogue,  but  how  tran- 
sitory ! 

He  had  gone  to  rejoin  M.  Hennin  at  Vienna, 
where  he  received  a  letter  from  the  Princess 
M.,  who  had  thought  proper  to  depict  for  him 
the  sufferings  of  absence.  With  his  ordinary 
ingenuousness  he  took  her  at 'her  word,  got  into 
a  carriage,  returned  to  Warsaw  unannounced, 
arrived  in  the  midst  of  a  reception,  was  received 
with  fiery  glances  and  insulting  words,  would 
take  no  denial,  and  after  the  departure  of  the 
guests,  wrested  his  pardon  then  and  there.  The 
next  day  when  he  awoke,  they  gave  him  the 
following  note : 

"  Your  passion  is  a  fury  which  I  can  no  longer 
endure.  Return  to  your  senses.  Think  of  your 
position  and  your  duties.  I  am  just  starting,  I 
am  going  to  rejoin  my  mother  in  the  Palatinate 
of  X.  I  shall  not  return  until  I  hear  that  you 
are  no  longer  here,  and  you  will  receive  no  letters 
from  me  until  such  time  as  I  can  address  them 
to  you  to  France.  Marie  M — ." 

She    had    in    fact    departed.      Bernardin    de 


32  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

Saint-Pierre    felt  outraged,  and    never  saw  her 
again. 

He  returned  to  his  vagrant  excursions  through 
Dresden,  Berlin,  and  Paris,  to  Havre,  where  he 
found  only  his  old  nurse.  His  father  was  dead, 
his  sister  in  a  convent,  his  brothers  far  away. 
"  Ah  !  sir,"  said  the  good  woman,  upsetting  her 
spinning-wheel  in  her  emotion, "  the  times  are 
indeed  changed.  There  is  no  one  here  to  receive 
you  but  me!"  She  invited  him  to  dine  in  her 
bare  lodging,  beside  her  bed  of  straw,  and  served 
up  an  omelet  and  a  pitcher  of  cider.  Then  she 
opened  her  trunk,  and  took  out  a  chipped  glass, 
which  she  placed  gently  beside  her  guest,  saying, 
"  It  was  your  mother's."  They  wept  together, 
and  then  they  talked  over  the  news  of  the  coun- 
try, of  Brother  Paul,  who  was  dead,  of  those  who 
had  left  the  town,  of  those  who  had  made  their 
fortunes.  They  spoke  also  of  Russia,  of  what 
they  drank  there,  and  of  the  price  they  paid  for 
bread.  Above  all  things  they  talked  of  the 
happy  times  when  old  Marie  used  to  do  up  the 
children's  hair  in  starched  curl-papers,  admired 
their  nonsense,  and  with  her  own  money  bought 
the  class  books  lost  by  Bernardin,  so  as  to  save 
him  from  a  scolding.  They  wept  together  again, 
kissed  each  other,  and  the  young  adventurer 
set  out  once  more,  less  discontented  with 
humanity  than  usual.  He  was  also  less  satisfied 


Yoiith — Years  of  Travel.  33 

with  himself,  after  the  lesson  of  resignation 
which  he  had  received  from  this  poor  old 
woman,  who  lived  upon  three  pence  a  day,  and 
praised  God  for  taking  care  of  her. 

Returned  to  Paris  he  again  overwhelmed  the 
ministers  of  the  king,  Louis  XV.,  with  memorials 
which  no  one  wanted,  with  complaints  and  peti- 
tions. He  continued  to  invent  schemes  on  all 
sorts  of  subjects,  and  to  cover  scraps  of  paper 
with  a  thousand  scattered  ideas.  M.  Hennin, 
clearly  discerning  where  his  talent  lay,  persuaded 
him  to  write  his  travels,  but  the  time  was  not  yet 
come,  and  the  fragments  of  this  date  which  have 
been  preserved  to  us  contain  nothing  but  infor- 
mation upon  political,  commercial,  and  agricul- 
tural subjects.  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  himself 
felt  that  it  was  too  soon.  Announcing  one  day 
to  Hennin  that  he  had  conceived  a  new  idea 
about  the  movement  of  the  earth,  he  added  : 

"You  can  see  by  that,  that  I  grapple  with 
everything,  and  that  I  leave  floating  here  and 
there  threads,  like  the  spider,  until  I  can  weave 
my  web.  .  .  . 

"  Give  me  time  to  lick  my  cub.  Time,  which 
ripens  my  intellect,  will  make  the  fruits  thereof 
more  worthy  of  you  "  (Letter  of  the  gth  of  July, 
1767). 

He  had  a  sort  of  instinct  that  all  those 
Northern  scenes  which  he  had  passed  through 
4 


34  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

were  of  no  use  to  him.  He  tried  to  find 
employment  in  the  countries  of  the  sun — in  the 
East  or  West  Indies — without  knowing  himself 
why  there  more  than  anywhere  else.  It  was 
the  exotic  that  sought  him,  and  it  came  to  him 
in  a  most  unexpected  manner  in  the  autumn  of 
1767. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  whoever 
knew  him  knew  his  project  of  an  ideal  republic. 
To  whom  had  he  not  mentioned  it  ?  He  had 
never  ceased  to  believe  in  it — to  be  sure  that 
people  would  come  to  it,  one  day  or  another  ; 
but  his  ill-luck  at  Moscow  had  made  his  belief 
less  confident  and  less  active.  He  resigned 
himself  to  await  until  Humanity  should  call 
upon  him  to  help  it  Great  then  was  his  joy 
when  one  of  his  patrons  announced  to  him  in 
confidence  one  fine  day  that  the  French  govern- 
ment, converted  to  his  ideas,  was  going  to  send 
him  to  Madagascar,  under  the  command  of  a 
certain  person  from  the  Isle  of  France,  to  found 
the  colony  of  his  dreams,  and  to  attach  the 
island  to  France  by  "  the  power  of  wisdom  "  and 
"the  example  of  happiness."  There  was  cer- 
tainly some  surprise  mixed  with  his  delight,  but 
not  sufficient  to  make  him  ask  himself  whether 
his  protector  wished  merely  to  get  rid  of  him, 
or  for  what  reason  an  expedition  entrusted 
solely  to  himself  had  for  leader  a  planter  from 


Youth — Years  of  Travel.  35 

the  Isle  of  France.  He  only  thought  of  his 
preparations  for  his  great  enterprise. 

His  first  care  was  to  re-read  Plato  and 
Plutarch,  and  to  determine  the  legislation  of  his 
colony.  He  remained  faithful  to  his  first  idea 
of  a  state  entirely  free,  under  the  control  com- 
pletely absolute,  arbitrary,  and  irresponsible,  of 
M.  de  Saint-Pierre.  Some  one,  of  course,  would 
have  to  compel  the  people  to  be  "  subject  only 
to  virtue."  That  was  the  system  put  in  force 
later  by  the  Jacobins. 

He  next  drew  out  the  plan  of  his  chief  town, 
and  employed  the  small  inheritance  which  came 
to  him  from  his  father,  in  buying  scientific 
instruments  and  works  upon  politics,  the  navy, 
and  natural  history.  The  expedition  was  to 
embark  at  Lorient.  He  hastened  to  rejoin  it, 
and  was  at  first  disappointed  with  its  composi- 
tion, for  instead  of  artisans  and  agriculturalists, 
the  Commander-in-chief  had  collected  secre- 
taries, valets,  cooks,  and  a  small  troupe  of 
comedians  of  both  sexes.  However,  Saint- 
Pierre  took  heart  at  once  on  learning  that  the 
Commander-in-chief  had  amongst  his  luggage 
all  the  volumes  that  had  yet  appeared  of  the 
Encyclopedia.  He  was,  therefore,  in  spite  of 
all,  "a  true  philosopher,"  and  things  were 
pretty  evenly  balanced.  The  Encyclopedia 
took  the  place  of  the  artisans,  and  made  the 


36  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

actresses  pass  muster.  Take  note  that  Ber- 
nardin de  Saint- Pierre  always  reproached  his 
contemporaries,  especially  the  encyclopaedists, 
with  being  mere  visionaries,  destitute  of  prac- 
tical sense.  He  flattered  himself  that  he  was 
the  practical  man  in  this  world  of  Utopians,  but 
at  the  same  time  he  looked  upon  their  work  as 
a  sort  of  supernatural  book.  Such  is  the  power 
of  opinion. 

The  expedition  set  sail  under  the  most  pro- 
mising auspices,  but  once  on  the  open  sea,  the 
Commander  wished  to  bring  Bernardin  de 
Saint-Pierre  to  a  more  reasonable  view  of  the 
situation,  and  explained  to  him  that  he  had 
never  had  any  other  design  than  to  sell  his  sub- 
jects. I  leave  to  the  imagination  the  effects  of 
this  thunderclap.  They  were  taking  him  to  join 
them  in  the  slave  trade  of  the  people  of  Mada- 
gascar !  The  horror  of  such  a  thought  increasing 
the  shame  of  having  been  duped,  voyage,  com- 
panions, projects  for  the  future,  and  the  very 
name  of  Madagascar,  all  became  odious  to  him 
on  the  spot.  His  ship  touched  at  the  Isle  of 
France.  He  hastened  to  disembark,  took  a 
situation  as  engineer,  and  left  his  Commander  to 
go  on  alone  to  Madagascar,  where,  it  may  be 
remarked  by  the  way,  the  expedition  perished 
of  fever.  For  himself,  discouraged  and  justly 
embittered,  he  lived  in  a  lonely  little  cottage 


Youth — Years  of  Travel.  37 

from  which  he  could  see  nothing  but  the  sea, 
arid  plains,  and  forests.  Seated  in  front  of  his 
one  window,  he  spent  long  hours  in  letting  his 
gaze  wander  aimlessly.  Or,  perhaps,  a  melan- 
choly pedestrian,  he  wandered  about  on  the 
shore,  in  the  mountains,  in  the  depths  of  those 
tropical  forests  which  we  picture  to  ourselves 
as  so  beautiful,  and  which  he  found  so  sad, 
because  nothing  there  recalled  to  him  the 
pleasant  scenes  of  his  own  country,  and  because 
he  saw  the  Isle  of  France  under  such  gloomy 
auspices. 

"There  is  not  a  flower,"  he  wrote,  "  in  the 
meadows,  which,  moreover,  are  strewn  with 
stones,  and  full  of  an  herb  as  tough  as  hemp  ;  no 
flowering  plant  with  a  pleasant  scent.  Among 
all  the  shrubs  not  one  worth  our  hawthorn. 
The  wild  vines  have  none  of  the  charms  of 
honeysuckle  or  ground  ivy.  There  are  no 
violets  in  the  woods,  and  as  to  the  trees,  they 
are  great  trunks,  grey  and  bare,  with  a  small 
tuft  of  leaves  of  a  dull  green.  These  wild 
regions  have  never  rejoiced  in  the  songs  of  birds 
or  the  loves  of  any  peaceable  animal.  Some- 
times one's  ear  is  offended  by  the  shrieks  of  the 
parroquet,  or  the  strident  cries  of  the  mis- 
chievous monkey."  I 

His  melancholy  lasted  throughout  his  stay 
1  Voyage  to  the  Isle  of  France. 


38  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

and  was  good  for  him  :  "  One  enjoys  agreeable 
things,"  he  said  afterwards,  "  and  the  sad  ones 
make  one  reflect."  That  was  the  lesson  which 
the  Isle  of  France  had  given  to  him.  He  had 
been  there  much  thrown  back  upon  himself,  and 
he  had  gained  at  last  a  glimpse  of  the  right 
road.  Instead  of  continuing  to  cram  his  notes 
of  travel  with  technical  details,  good  at  most  to 
adorn  his  memorials  to  the  ministers,  he  had  set 
himself  to  note  down  what  he  observed  from  his 
window,  or  during  his  walks.  He  made  a  note  of 
the  lines  and  forms  of  the  landscape,  of  its  gene- 
ral appearance,  the  formation  of  the  ground,  the 
structure  of  the  rocks,  the  outlines  of  the  trees 
and  plants.  He  observed  their  colours,  their 
most  subtle  shades,  their  variations  according  to 
the  weather  or  time  of  day,  their  smallest 
details,  such  as  the  red  fissure  on  a  grey  stone, 
or  the  white  underside  of  a  green  leaf.  He 
notes  the  sounds  of  his  solitude,  the  particular 
sound  of  the  wind  on  a  certain  day  in  a  certain 
place,  the  murmur  belonging  to  each  kind  of 
tree,  the  rhythm  of  a  flight  of  birds,  the  imper- 
ceptible rustling  of  a  leaf  moved  by  an  insect. 
He  noted  the  movements  of  inanimate  nature, 
the  waving  of  the  grass,  the  parts  of  a  circle 
described  by  the  force  of  the  wind  in  the  tree 
tops,  the  swaying  of  a  leaf  upon  which  a 
bird  had  perched  itself,  the  flowing  of  the 


Youth — Years  of  Travel.  39 

streams,  the  tossing  of  the  sea,  the  pace  of  the 
clouds.1 

Sometimes  he  drew,  and  his  sketches  were 
only  another  form  of  notes.  During  the 
crossing,  while  full  of  acute  sorrow,  he  had 
drawn  numberless  clouds.  He  studied  their 
forms,  their  colour,  their  foreground  and  back- 
ground, their  combinations,  by  themselves  or 
with  the  sea,  the  play  of  light  upon  them,  with 
the  attention  and  conscientiousness  of  a  painter 
of  to-day,  exacting  in  the  matter  of  truth. 

This  rage  for  taking  notes,  seems  a  simple 
thing  to  us  now;  it  is  the  method  of  to-day, 
but  it  was  unique  and  unheard  of  in  1769.  No 
one,  in  France  at  least,  had  bethought  himself 
of  these  descriptions,  for  which  one  must  have 
materials.  Moreover,  no  one  was  then  in  a  posi- 
tion to  note  the  details  of  a  landscape,  for  the 
simple  reason  that  no  one  was  capable  of  seeing 
them,  not  even  Rousseau.  Not  that  he  had  not 
the  same  keen  perception  for  nature  that  Ber- 
nardin  de  Saint-Pierre  had,  but  it  struck  him  in 
a  somewhat  different  way,  as  we  shall  see  later. 
Besides,  the  Confessions  and  the  Reveries  did 
not  appear  till  after  his  death,  and  could  not 
have  had  any  influence  whatever  on  the  birth  at 

1  The  papers  of  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  are  in  the  posses- 
sion of  the  family  Aime  Martin.  M.  Aime  Martin  had  beside 
him,  when  he  was  writing  Bernard in's  biography,  the  numerous 
notes  taken  by  the  latter  from  nature. 


40  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

the  Isle  of  France  in  1769  of  picturesque 
literature. 

It  was  a  birth  as  yet  obscure  and  seemingly 
uncertain.  This  young  engineer,  who  sketched 
sunsets  instead  of  making  plans,  did  not  know 
very  well  what  he  would  do  with  his  "  observa- 
tions." He  felt  that  they  would  not  be  wasted, 
and  that  they  were  not  like  other  stories  of 
travel ;  but  the  definite  initiation  into  his  own 
sphere  was  still  wanting. 

It  concerns  us  little  what  Bernardin  de  Saint- 
Pierre  did  at  the  Isle  of  France,  outside  his 
dreamings,  or  whether  he  was  right  or  wrong  in 
his  quarrels,  his  disagreements,  and  his  lamenta- 
tions. It  suffices  for  us  that  he  returned  to  Paris 
in  the  month  of  June,  1771,  his  portfolio  full  of 
scraps  of  paper,  his  trunks  full  of  shells,  plants, 
insects  and  birds,  and  what  was  of  more  value, 
his  head  full  of  pictures.  He  was  as  poor  as 
when  he  set  out,  and  still  more  unsociable,  but 
he  was  ripe  for  his  task.  "  He  had  seen,  he  had 
felt,  he  had  suffered,  he  had  heaped  up  emotions 
and  colours,  he  had  made  himself  different  from 
other  men.  To  the  vulgar  crowd  he  had  been 
an  adventurer,  but  he  had  passed  through  the 
school  which  develops  painters,  poets,  and  men 
of  talent.  That  is  what  he  had  gained  by  his 
long  travels." J  It  is  a  great  advantage  when 

1  Villemain,  The  Literature  of  the  Eighteenth  Century. 


Youth — Years  of  Travel.  41 

one  is  oneself  an  exceptional  being,  to  have  had 
a  youth  which  was  not  like  that  of  everybody 
else.  An  ordinary  man  would  have  run  a  great 
chance  of  coming  out  diminished  in  energy,  and 
on  the  wrong  road,  from  those  dangerous  years 
of  apprenticeship  which  led  the  author  of  Paul 
and  Virginia  to  be  himself.  Bernardin  de 
Saint-Pierre  came  through  them  without  too 
many  mishaps.  His  travels  only  made  him  a 
little  more  original,  and  more  misanthropic  than 
he  was  in  the  beginning. 


CHAPTER  II. 

PERIOD  OF  UNCERTAINTY— VOYAGE  TO  THE  ISLE  OF 
FRANCE— ACQUAINTANCE  WITH  J.  J.  ROUSSEAU 
— THE  CRISIS. 

HE  felt  about  for  some  time  longer  before 
finally  taking  up  the  pen.  In  vain  his 
friend  Hennin  urged  him :  "  Above  all,  do  not 
keep  saying  as  you  have  done  hitherto,  '  I  will 
write,  I  will  publish;'  write,  publish,  and  leave  it 
to  your  friends  to  make  your  work  a  success." 
Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  hesitated :  "  I  am 
occupying  myself,"  he  replied,  "  in  putting  in 
order  the  journal  of  my  travels ;  not  that  I  wish 
to  become  an  author,  that  is  too  distasteful  a 
career  and  leads  to  nothing,  but  I  imitate  those 
who  learn  to  draw  in  order  to  adorn  their 
rooms"  (Letter  of  the  29th  of  December,  1771). 
He  speaks  to  him  in  the  same  letter  of  getting 
the  Government  to  give  him  a  mission  to  the 
Indies,  so  that  he  may  be  able  to  regale  the 
ministers  with  a  few  more  memorials  on  politics 
or  strategy. 

He  hesitated  because  he  did  not  know  how  to 
set  to  work.     He  thought  he  saw  a  manner  of 
43 


Period  of  Uncertainty.  43 

describing  nature  for  which  he  knew  of  no 
models  ;  and  instead  of  trusting  to  himself,  he 
appealed  to  his  writers,  who  could  do  nothing 
for  him.  In  the  Harmonies  de  la  Nature,  his 
last  great  work,  into  which  he  put  all  his  frag- 
ments, there  is  a  rhetorical  lecture  upon  the 
rules  of  landscape  painting,  which  bears  witness 
to  the  care  with  which  he  had  analysed  the 
methods  of  Virgil.  In  it  Saint-Pierre  explains 
to  some  imaginary  pupils  the  means  employed 
by  the  poet  to  obtain  the  desired  effect :  "  When 
Virgil  tells  us,  '  The  ash-tree  is  very  beautiful 
in  the  -woods,  the  poplar  on  the  banks  of  the 
rivers',  he  puts  the  tree  in  the  singular  and  the 
site  in  the  plural,  in  order  to  enlarge  his  horizon. 
If  he  had  put  the  vegetation  in  the  plural,  and 
the  sites  in  the  singular,  they  would  not  have 
had  the  same  scope.  He  would  have  contracted 
his  different  scenes  if  he  had  said :  '  The  ash- 
trees  are  very  beautiful  in  a  wood-,  the  poplars 
on  the  bank  of  a  river!  The  lines  of  the  picture 
once  fixed,  Virgil  throws  the  flash  of  light  upon 
his  landscape,  and  it  appears  either  sad  or 
smiling.  He  succeeds  in  enlivening  it  with 
bees,  swans,  birds  and  flocks  ;  or  in  saddening 
it  by  painting  it  desolate.  A  landscape  is 
always  melancholy  when  it  includes  nothing  but 
the  primitive  forces  of  nature." 

It   is  a   subtle  piece  of  observation,  but  the 


44  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

feeling  for  nature  which  was  awakening  in 
Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre,  and  for  which  he 
was  striving  to  find  expression,  was  more 
complicated  than  that  of  Virgil.  Neither  the 
Eclogues  nor  the  Georgics  taught  him  anything 
about  what  were  to  be  the  great  novelties 
of  descriptive  literature.  The  ancients  did 
not  feel  this  need  for  precise  and  picturesque 
detail,  which  has  enabled  us  to  take  the  por- 
trait of  a  corner  of  country  as  we  do  that  of  a 
person,  with  the  same  minutiae,  and  the  same 
care  about  the  resemblance.  On  the  other  hand, 
they  had  little  of  the  intuition  tor  that  mys- 
terious correspondence  between  the  scene  and 
the  spectator,  for  that  reciprocal  action  of  nature 
upon  our  feelings,  and  of  our  feelings  upon  the 
manner  in  which  we  look  upon  nature  that  in 
our  day  gives  so  personal  an  emphasis  to  literary 
pictures  of  scenery,  and  can  lend  a  tragedy  to 
the  description  of  a  bit  of  meadow.  The  only 
one  of  the  Greek  or  Latin  writers,  who  has 
described  the  relations  of  our  souls  with  the 
world  around  us,  has  done  it  magnificently  ;  but 
Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  had  not  read  him.  He 
was  a  Father  of  the  Church  of  the  fourth  century, 
Saint  Gregory  of  Nazianzen,  some  of  whose 
pages  make  us  think  of  Chateaubriand. 

"  Yesterday,  tortured  by  my  regrets,  I  seated 
myself  under  the  shade  of  a  thick  wood,  eating 


Period  of  Uncertainty.  45 

my  heart  in  solitude ;  for  in  trouble  this  silent 
communing  with  one's  soul  is  a  consolation  that 
I  love.  From  the  tree-tops  where  the  breeze 
murmured,  and  the  birds  were  singing,  gladdened 
by  the  sunlight,  there  fell  a  soft  influence  of 
sleep.  The  grasshoppers  hidden  in  the  grass 
echoed  through  the  wood,  a  clear  stream  softly 
gliding  through  its  cool  glades  bathed  my  feet  ; 
as  for  me,  I  remained  pre-occupied  with  my 
grief,  and  had  no  care  for  these  things  ;  for  when 
the  soul  is  overwhelmed  with  sorrow  it  cannot 
yield  itself  up  to  pleasure.  •  In  the  tumult  of 
my  troubled  heart,  I  spoke  aloud  the  thoughts 
which  were  contending  within  me :  'What  have 
I  been  ?  What  am  I  ?  What  shall  I  become  ? 
I  know  not.  One  wiser  than  I  knows  no  better. 
Lost  in  clouds  I  wander  to  and  fro  ;  having 
nothing,  not  even  the  dream  of  what  I 
desire.' " J 

One  might  urge  that  Bernardin  de  Saint- 
Pierre  had  not  read  the  poets  of  the  sixteenth 
century  any  more  than  the  Fathers  of  the 
Church.  It  was  not  the  fashion  of  his  day,  and 
he  was  not  the  sort  of  man  to  go  and  explore 
the  libraries  ;  he  was  too  much  occupied  in 
making  discoveries  in  the  fields.  Like  almost 
all  his  contemporaries,  he  jumped  from  antiquity 
to  the  seventeenth  century  with  only  Montaigne 
1  Poems.  Translated  by  Villemain. 


46  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

in  the  interval.  After  Homer,  Virgil,  the 
Gospel,  and  Plutarch,  his  intellectual  sustenance 
had  been  Racine,  La  Fontaine,  Pension,  and  at 
last  coming  to  his  contemporaries,  Jean  Jacques 
Rousseau.  In  vain  he  questioned  them  upon 
the  idea  which  pursued  him  ;  not  one  of  them 
gave  him  a  satisfactory  answer.  Racine,  who 
they  say  was  enchanted  with  the  valley  of  Port 
Royal,  had  had  no  room  in  his  tragedies  for 
word  pictures.  La  Fontaine  had  more  the  feel- 
ing for  the  country  than  for  nature.  Pension 
saw  the  woods  and  the  fields  from  the  point  of 
view  of  the  ancients.  We  have  purposely  not 
mentioned  Buffon  ;  Bernardin  did  not  under- 
stand or  appreciate  him. 

There  remained  Rousseau,  who  loved  the 
beauty  of  the  universe  with  all  his  passionate 
heart;  but  the  fine  descriptions  of  Rousseau 
appear  in  his  posthumous  works  —  in  the 
Confessions  and  the  Reveries  which  were  pub- 
lished, it  is  well  to  insist  upon  this,  nine  years 
after  the  Voyage  to  the  Isle  of  France.  The 
celebrated  landscapes  in  La  Nouvelle  Helotsey 
which  Saint-Pierre  had  certainly  studied,  have 
about  them  something  conventional,  which 
makes  them  appear  cold.  Call  to  mind  Saint- 
Preux  in  the  mountains  of  Valais  : 

"  Here  immense  rocks  hung  in  ruins  above 
my  head  ;  there  high  and  thundering  cascades 


Period  of  Uncertainty.  47 

drenched  me  with  their  thick  mist  ;  again,  an 
eternal  torrent  would  open  beside  me  an  abyss,  of 
which  my  eyes  did  not  dare  to  sound  the  depths. 
Sometimes  I  lost  myself  in  the  obscurity  of  a 
thick  wood.  Sometimes  on  emerging  from  a 
ravine  my  eyes  would  suddenly  be  rejoiced  by 
a  pleasant  plain.  An  astonishing  admixture  of 
wilderness  and  cultivation  showed  everywhere 
the  hand  of  men,  where  one  would  have  thought 
that  they  had  never  penetrated :  beside  a  cavern 
you  found  houses,  dried  vine  branches  where 
one  only  sought  brambles,  vines  growing  upon 
landslips,  excellent  fruit  upon  rocks,  and  fields 
in  the  midst  of  precipices." 

In  this  bit,  almost  all  the  adjectives  are  ab- 
stract. The  torrent  is  eternal,  the  meadow 
agreeable,  the  fruits  excellent.  It  is  still  in  the 
style  of  Poussin,  and  nothing  in  it  foretells  the 
pictures  in  the  manner  of  Corot  and  Theodore 
Rousseau,  which  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  was 
soon  to  give  to  us.  Let  us  say  at  once,  in  order 
to  establish  the  claim  of  the  author  of  Paui 
and  Virginia  to  the  character  of  an  innovator 
and  pioneer,  that  the  posthumous  works  of 
Jean  Jacques  only  give  us  his  own  impressions 
of  a  picture  which  he  suggests  rather  than  shows 
to  us.  The  immortal  summer  night  of  the 
Confessions,  on  the  road  near  Lyons,  or  the 
walk  to  Me"nilmontant  of  the  Reveries,  after 


48  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

the  vintage  and  through  the  leafless  country, 
leave  in  the  memory  recollections  of  sensations 
rather  than  pictures.  One  recalls  a  breeze  of 
voluptuous  warmth,  a  soft  light  of  autumn  ;  but 
the  physiognomy  of  the  country  escapes  us. 
Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  will  be  the  first  to 
paint  it  for  us  accurately.  Just  because  he  is 
much  less  great  than  his  glorious  predecessor, 
we  must  give  him  his  due,  and  insist  upon  his 
originality. 

Thus  thrown  upon  his  own  resources,  and 
finding  by  great  good  fortune  no  one  to  imitate, 
he  decided  to  take  up  the  pen,  and  wrote,  as 
well  as  he  could,  and  with  many  erasures,  his 
Voyage  to  the  Isle  of  France.  He  had  suc- 
ceeded in  sufficiently  clearing  up  his  ideas  to 
know  very  well  what  he  wanted  to  do.  He  had 
two  objects  in  view  :  in  the  first  place  he  wished 
to  awaken  a  love  of  nature  amongst  the  public. 
"  By  dint  of  familiarising  ourselves  with  the 
arts,"  he  says  in  The  Voyage,  "  Nature  be 
comes  alien  to  us ;  we  are  even  so  artificial 
that  we  call  natural  objects  curiosities."  He 
was  shocked  that  the  multitude  who  became 
enamoured  of  the  works  of  men  could  pass  by 
the  works  of  God  without  seeing  them,  and  he 
boasted  for  his  part  that  he  preferred  a  vine- 
stock  to  a  column  .  .  .  the  flight  of  a  gnat  to 
the  colonnade  of  the  Louvre."  Moreover,  he 


Period  of  Uncertainty.  49 

could  not  understand  how  one  could  separate 
man  from  his  surroundings,  from  the  air  which 
he  breathed,  the  soil  which  he  trod  upon,  the 
plants  and  animals  which  were  about  him.  "  A 
landscape,"  he  says  in  his  preface,  "  is  the  back- 
ground of  the  picture  of  human  life." 

The  second  object  of  his  work  was  in  his 
eyes  still  more  important  than  the  first.  The 
awakening  of  a  love  of  nature  amongst  men  was 
not  to  be  a  simple  artistic  pleasure.  Saint- 
Pierre  designed  to  make  use  of  it  to  teach  these 
same  multitudes  to  seek  evidences  of  the  Divinity 
elsewhere  than  in  books.  He  wished  to  restore 
to  the  France  of  the  philosophers  the  sense  of 
the  presence  of  God  in  the  universe,  and  the 
best  way  to  do  it  seemed  to  him  to  be  to  draw 
attention  towards  the  marvels  of  creation.  No 
argument  in  his  eyes  was  worth  a  day  passed 
in  the  fields  in  looking  at  what  was  about  him 
and  at  his  feet.  "  Nature,  "  he  wrote,  "  presents 
such  ingenious  harmonies,  such  benevolent 
designs  ;  mute  scenes  so  expressive  and  little 
noticed,  that  if  one  could  present  even  a  feeble 
picture  of  them  to  the  most  thoughtless  man, 
he  would  be  forced  to  exclaim,  '  There  is  some 
moving  spirit  in  all  this.' "  In  another  place  he 
apologises  himself  for  having  written  about 
plants  and  animals  without  being  a  naturalist, 
and  he  adds  :  "  Natural  history  not  being  con- 
5 


50  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

fined  to  the  libraries  it  seemed  to  me  that  it  was 
a  book  wherein  all  the  world  might  read.  I 
have  thought  I  could  perceive  the  tangible 
evidence  of  the  existence  of  a  Providence,  and 
I  have  spoken  of  it,  not  as  a  system  which 
amuses  my  mind  but  as  a  feeling  of  which  my 
heart  is  full." 

We  notice  in  the  two  last  lines  the  avowal,  as 
yet  timid  and  obscure,  of  Bernardin  de  Saint- 
Pierre's  favourite  maxim,  the  key  to  all  his 
schemes  philosophical,  scientific,  political,  or 
educational.  He  always  strove,  and  more  and 
more  openly  as  he  gained  reputation  and 
authority,  to  persuade  the  world  that  feeling  is 
ever  a  better  guide  than  reason  in  all  ques- 
tions, and  that  it  gives  us  greater  certainty. 
He  himself  gave  an  example  in  applying  it  to 
everything,  and  in  particular  to  the  truths  of 
religion.  We  should  say  truthfully,  that  he  was 
sufficiently  of  his  day,  sufficiently  imbued  with 
the  spirit  of  the  encyclopaedists  to  believe  him- 
self already  conquered  if  he  appealed  to  reason 
in  favour  of  God.  He  thought  it  safest  to 
address  himself  to  the  feelings  of  the  reader 
rather  than  to  his  intelligence,  in  order  to 
reconcile  him  with  a  personage  so  little  in  favour. 

This  fine  programme  was  unhappily  very 
indifferently  realised  in  the  Voyage  to  the  Isle  of 
France.  Bernardin  had  first  and  foremost  an 


Period  of  Uncertainty.  51 

immense  difficulty  to  contend  against  in  the 
absence  of  a  picturesque  vocabulary.  "  The  art 
of  depicting  nature  is  so  new,"  he  said  in  the 
course  of  his  narrative,  "  that  its  terminology  is 
yet  uninvented.  Try  to  describe  a  mountain 
so  that  it  shall  be  recognisable :  when  you 
have  spoken  of  the  foundation,  of  the  sides, 
and  the  summit,  you  will  have  said  everything. 
But  what  variety  is  there  in  those  forms 
bulging,  rounded,  extended,  here  flattened,  there 
hollowed,  &c.  !  You  can  find  nothing  but 
paraphrases.  There  is  the  same  difficulty  with 
the  plains  and  valleys.  ...  It  is  not  astonishing, 
then,  that  travellers  give  such  poor  accounts  of 
natural  objects.  If  they  describe  a  country  to 
you,  you  will  see  in  it  towns,  rivers,  mountains  ; 
but  their  descriptions  are  as  barren  as  a  geo- 
graphical map  :  Hindostan  resembles  Europe  ; 
there  is  no  character  in  it" 

There  are,  in  fact,  accounts  of  travels  of  the 
eighteenth  century  in  which  one  might  con- 
found a  landscape  in  the  East,  With  one  in 
Touraine.  Not  only  they  did  not  see  so  much 
difference  as  we  do  :  they  wanted  words  to  give 
to  each  its  own  idiosyncrasy.  To  Bernardin  de 
Saint- Pierre  is  due  the  honour  of  having  begun 
the  work  of  enriching  the  language,  which  was 
one  of  the  glories  of  the  Romantic  School. 

Having  to  some  extent  overcome  this  first 


52          Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

difficulty,  Bernardin  encountered  a  second  be- 
fore which  he  succumbed.  That  was  his  in- 
experience, and  the  timidity  of  a  novice  who 
dares  not  let  himself  go.  His  narrative  is  dry 
and  often  tiresome.  There  are  here  and  there 
fine  descriptions,  written  with  a  certain  breadth 
and  musical  expression,  but  the  whole  only 
creates  an  interest  because  it  is  an  attempt  to 
achieve  something  new.  The  picture  of  the 
port  at  Lorient  is  one  of  the  best  things  in  it. 
It  is  at  the  beginning  and  it  makes  one  hope  for 
better  things. 

"A  strong  wind  was  blowing.  We  had 
crossed  through  the  town  without  meeting  any 
one.  From  the  walls  of  the  citadel  I  could  see 
the  inky  horizon,  the  island  of  Grois  covered 
with  mist,  the  open  sea  tossing  restlessly  ;  in  the 
distance  great  ships  close-reefed,  and  poor 
sailing  luggers  in  the  trough  of  the  sea  ;  upon 
the  shore  troops  of  women  benumbed  with  cold 
and  fear  ;  a  sentinel  on  the  top  of  a  bastion 
surprised  at  the  hardihood  of  those  poor  men 
who  fish  with  the  gulls  in  the  midst  of  the 
tempest." 

There  is  grandeur  and  emphasis  in  this  pas- 
sage. It  has  character,  to  use  Bernardin  de 
Saint-Pierre's  expression  ;  the  sea  which  he 
paints  for  us  is  the  real  ocean,  and  the  ocean  as 
seen  from  the  coast  of  France  on  a  stormy  day. 


Period  of  Uncertainty.  53 

He  is  no  less  happy  in  describing  familiar 
things;  witness  his  description  of  the  fish  market. 
"  We  returned  well  buttoned  up,  very  wet,  and 
holding  on  our  hats  with  our  hands.  In  passing 
through  Lorient  we  saw  the  whole  market-place 
covered  with  fish  ;  skates  white  and  dark- 
coloured,  others  bristling  with  spines  ;  dog-fish, 
monstrous  conger-eels  writhing  upon  the  ground  ; 
large  baskets  full  of  crabs  and  lobsters ;  heaps 
of  oysters,  mussels,  and  scallops  ;  cod,  soles, 
turbot,  in  fine  a  miraculous  draught  like  that  of 
the  apostles." 

The  tempest  at  sea  in  the  Mozambique 
Channel  is  perhaps  the  best  page  in  the  book. 
In  order  to  enjoy  it  thoroughly,  we  must  turn 
first  to  the  classical  tempests  before  Saint- 
Pierre's  time,  which  are  still  more  featureless, 
more  destitute  of  character,  than  the  landscapes. 
The  following  example  is  taken  from  Tehmachus: 
"  While  they  thus  forgot  the  dangers  of  the  sea 
a  sudden  tempest  agitated  the  heavens  and  the 
sea.  The  unchained  winds  roared  with  fury  in 
the  sails ;  dark  waves  beat  against  the  sides  of 
the  vessel,  which  groaned  under  their  blows. 
Now  we  rose  on  to  the  summits  of  the  swollen 
waves  ;  now  the  sea  seemed  to  disappear  from 
under  the  ship  and  to  plunge  us  into  the  abyss." 
When  one  has  read  one  of  these  accounts  one 
has  read  them  all.  The  same  terms,  few  in 


54  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

number,  serve  to  fashion  indefinitely  the  same 
images  of  groaning  vessels  which  roaring  winds 
precipitate  into  the  abyss,  and  it  is  not  even 
necessary  to  have  seen  the  sea  in  order  to 
acquit  oneself  quite  respectably :  it  is  enough 
if  one  consults  the  proper  authors  Not  a  word 
of  the  description  which  we  have  been  reading 
belonged  really  to  Fenelon.  He  took  it  in 
its  entirety  from  Virgil  and  Ovid  : 

.  .  .  stridens  aquilone  procella 
Velum  adversa  ferit 

(Virgil.     The  Entad.) 
Scepe  dat  ingentem  fluctu  latus  icta  fragorem. 

(Ovid.     The  Metamorphosis.) 

Hi  summo  in  fluctu  pendent ;  his  unda  dehiscens 
Terrain  inter  fluctus  aperit. 

(Virgil.     The  Entad.) 

Now  compare  with  this  literary  tempest  the 
realistic  description  of  Saint- Pierre,  taken  from 
hour  to  hour,  minute  to  minute,  and  put  down 
in  a  note-book  as  the  rolling  of  the  vessel 
permitted. 

"  On  the  23rd  (June,  1768),  at  half-past  twelve, 
a  tremendously  heavy  sea  stove  in  four  windows 
out  of  five  in  the  large  saloon,  although  their 
shutters  were  fastened  with  crossbars.  The 
vessel  made  a  backward  movement  as  if  she 
were  going  down  by  the  stern.  Hearing  the 
noise,  I  opened  the  door  of  my  cabin,  which  in 


Period  of  Uncertainty.  55 

'a  moment  was  full  of  water  and  floating  furni- 
ture. The  water  escaped  by  the  door  of  the 
grand  saloon  as  though  through  the  sluices  of  a 
mill ;  upwards  of  twenty  hogsheads  had  come 
in.  The  carpenters  were  called,  a  light  was 
brought,  and  they  hastened  to  nail  up  other 
port-holes.  We  were  then  flying  along  under 
the  foresail ;  the  wind  and  the  sea  were 
terrible.  .  .  . 

"  As  the  rolling  of  the  ship  prevented  me  from 
sleeping,  I  had  thrown  myself  into  my  berth  in 
my  boots  and  dressing-gown  ;•  my  dog  seemed 
to  be  seized  with  extraordinary  fear.  While  I 
was  amusing  myself  trying  to  calm  him,  I  saw 
a  flash  of  lightning  through  the  dim  light  of  my 
port-hole,  and  heard  the  noise  of  thunder.  It 
might  have  been  about  half-past  three.  An 
instant  later  a  second  peal  of  thunder  burst 
overhead,  and  my  dog  began  to  tremble  and 
howl.  Then  came  a  third  flash  of  lightning, 
followed  almost  immediately  by  a  third  peal  of 
thunder,  and  I  heard  some  one  in  the  forecastle 
cry  that  the  ship  was  in  danger ;  in  fact,  the  noise 
was  like  the  roar  of  a  cannon  discharged  close 
to  us  ;  there  was  no  reverberation.  As  I  smelt 
a  strong  odour  of  sulphur,  I  went  up  on  deck, 
where  at  first  I  felt  it  intensely  cold.  A  great 
silence  reigned  there,  and  the  night  was  so  dark 
that  I  could  see  nothing.  However,  I  made  out 


56  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

dimly  some  one  near  me.  I  asked  him  what  had 
happened ;  he  replied,  '  They  have  just  carried 
the  officer  of  the  watch  to  his  cabin  ;  he  has 
fainted,  as  has  also  the  pilot.  The  lightning 
struck  our  vessel,  and  our  mainmast  is  split.'  I 
could  in  fact  distinguish  the  yard  of  the  topsail, 
which  had  fallen  upon  the  cross-trees  of  the 
main-top.  Above  it  there  was  neither  mast  nor 
rigging,  and  the  whole  of  the  crew  had  retired 
into  the  chart-room.  They  made  a  round  of  the 
decks,  and  found  that  the  lightning  had  de- 
scended the  whole  length  of  the  mast.  A  woman 
who  had  just  been  confined  had  seen  a  globe  of 
fire  at  the  foot  of  her  berth  ;  nevertheless,  they 
found  no  trace  of  fire.  Everybody  awaited  with 
impatience  the  end  of  the  night. 

"At  daybreak  I  went  up  on  deck  again.  In 
the  sky  were  some  clouds,  white  and  copper- 
coloured.  The  wind  blew  from  the  west,  where 
the  horizon  appeared  of  a  ruddy  silver,  as  though 
the  sun  were  going  to  rise  there  ;  the  east  was 
entirely  black.  The  sea  rose  in  huge  waves, 
resembling  jagged  mountain  ranges,  formed  of 
tier  upon  tier  of  hills.  On  their  summit  were 
great  jets  of  spray  tinted  with  the  colours  of 
the  rainbow.  They  rose  to  such  a  height  that 
from  the  quarter-deck  they  seemed  to  us  higher 
than  the  topmast.  The  wind  made  so  much 
noise  in  the  rigging  it  was  impossible  for  us  to 


Period  of  Uncertainty.  57 

hear  one  another.  We  were  scudding  before 
the  wind  under  the  foresail.  A  stump  of  the 
topmast  hung  from  the  end  of  the  mainmast, 
which  was  split  in  eight  places  down  to  the 
level  of  the  deck.  Five  of  the  iron  bands  with 
which  it  was  bound  had  been  melted  away.  ..." 

Here  are  now  some  extracts  from  one  of 
Pierre  Loti's  storms.  We  shall  thus  be  able  to 
estimate  the  progress  which  descriptive  litera- 
ture has  made  in  the  last  two  centuries. 

"  The  waves,  still  small,  began  to  chase  one 
another  and  melt  together  ;  they  were  at  first 
marbled  with  white  foam,  which  on  their  crests 
broke  into  spray.  Then  with  a  kind  of  hiss 
there  rose  a  smoke  :  you  would  have  said  the 
water  was  boiling  or  burning,  and  the  strident 
clamour  of  it  all  increased  from  moment  to 
moment.  .  .  ,  The  great  bank  of  clouds  which 
had  gathered  on  the  western  horizon  in  the 
shape  of  an  island,  was  beginning  to  break  up 
from  the  top  and  the  fragments  were  scudding 
over  the  sky.  It  seemed  to  be  inexhaustible  ; 
the  wind  drew  it  out,  elongated  it,  and  stretched 
it,  bringing  out  of  it  dark  curtains,  which  it  spread 
over  the  clear  yellow  sky,  now  become  livid,  cold, 
and  dark. 

"  And  all  the  while  it  grew  stronger  and 
stronger,  this  mighty  breath  which  made  all 
things  to  tremble. 


58  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

"  The  ship,  the  Marie,  prepares  for  bad 
weather,  and  begins  to  fly  to  leeward. 

"  Overhead  it  had  become  quite  dark,  a  dead 
vault  that  seemed  as  if  it  would  crush  you — with 
a  few  spots  of  a  yet  blacker  blackness,  which 
were  spread  over  it  in  formless  patches.  It 
seemed  almost  like  a  motionless  dome,  and  you 
had  to  look  closely  to  see  that  it  was  in  the  full 
whirl  of  movement.  Great  sheets  of  grey  cloud 
hurrying  by  and  unceasingly  replaced  by  others, 
rose  from  the  bottom  of  the  horizon,  like  gloomy 
curtains  unrolling  from  an  endless  coil. 

"  The  Marie  fled  faster  and  faster  before  the 
storm,  and  the  storm  fled  after  her  as  if  from 
some  mysterious  terror.  Everything — the  wind, 
the  sea,  the  ship,  the  clouds — was  seized  with  the 
same  panic  of  flight  and  speed  towards  the  same 
point.  And  all  this  passion  of  movement  grew 
greater,  under  an  ever-darkening  sky,  in  the 
midst  of  ever-increasing  din. 

"  From  everything  arose  a  Titanic  clamour, 
like  the  prelude  of  an  apocalypse  foreboding 
the  horror  of  a  world's  catastrophe.  Amidst  it 
you  could  distinguish  thousands  of  voices  ;  those 
above  were  shrill  or  deep,  and  seemed  far  off 
because  they  were  so  mighty ;  that  was  the 
wind,  the  great  soul  of  this  confusion,  the  in- 
visible power  that  dominated  it  all.  It  filled 
one  with  fear,  but  there  were  other  sound 


Period  of  Uncertainty.  59 

nearer,  more  material,  more  ominous  of  des- 
truction, which  came  from  the  writhen  water, 
that  hissed  as  it  were  upon  embers."  * 

After  the  pages  which  we  have  just  read  there 
is  nothing  more  in  the  way  of  progress  possible. 
The  only  thing  to  be  done  would  be  to  return 
to  the  great  simplicity  of  Homer,  Lucretius,  and 
Virgil,  to  obtain  the  same  emotions  in  two  or 
three  lines. 

Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre's  style  is  bald 
beside  that  of  Pierre  Loti  ;  it  requires  an  effort 
to  return  to  it.  The  arrival  at  Port  Louis  of  the 
ship,  disabled,  and  filled  with  scurvy-smitten 
people,  is,  however,  striking  in  its  simplicity. 
"  Just  imagine  this  riven  mainmast,  this  ship 
with  her  flag  of  distress,  firing  guns  every 
minute ;  a  few  sailors,  looking  like  spectres, 
seated  on  the  deck ;  the  open  hatches,  whence 
rose  a  poisonous  vapour  ;  the  'tween-decks  full 
of  dying  people,  the  deck  covered  with  invalids 
exposed  to  the  heat  of  the  sun,  and  who  died 
whilst  speaking  to  one.  I  shall  never  forget  a 
young  man  of  eighteen,  to  whom  the  evening 
before  I  had  promised  a  little  lemonade.  I 
sought  him  on  the  deck  amongst  the  others ; 
they  pointed  him  out  to  me  lying  on  a  plank  ; 
he  had  died  during  the  night." 

The  passages  in  which  the  thought  and  the 

1  Pecheur  d'Islande. 


60  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

expression  are  thus  wedded  are  unfortunately 
rare  in  the  Voyage  to  the  Isle  of  France.  In 
general,  the  writer  does  not  yet  understand  how 
to  make  the  best  use  of  his  sketches  and  notes  ; 
and  he  did  not  hesitate  later  on  to  go  over  his 
first  sketches  and  develop  them.  This  makes  it 
very  convenient  for  following  his  progress  in  the 
difficult  art  which  he  was  creating.  One  can 
judge  of  it  in  his  account  of  a  sunset  at  sea  in 
the  tropics,  which  he  re-wrote  for  the  Etudes  de 
la  Nature.  Here  is  the  sketch  as  it  appeared  in 
the  Voyage  to  the  Isle  of  France : 

"  One  evening  the  clouds  gathered  towards  the 
west  in  the  form  of  a  vast  net,  resembling  in 
texture  white  silk.  As  the  sun  passed  behind 
it  each  strand  appeared  in  relief  surrounded 
with  a  circle  of  gold.  The  gold  gradually 
dissolved  into  flame-colour  and  crimson  tints, 
and  low  on  the  horizon  appeared  pale  tones  of 
purple,  green,  and  azure. 

"  Often  in  the  sky  there  are  formed  land- 
scapes of  singular  variety,  where  you  can  find 
the  most  fantastic  shapes,  promontories,  steep 
declivities,  towers,  and  hamlets,  over  which  the 
light  throws  in  succession  all  sorts  of  prismatic 
colours." 

This  is  but  a  summary  account  of  the  scene, 
a  sort  of  table  of  contents  of  the  state  of  the  sky 
on  a  certain  evening.  The  second  description 


Period  of  Uncertainty.  61 

is  almost  too  excessive,  and  contains  too  much 
imagery  and  too  many  colours. 

"  Sometimes  the  winds  roll  up  the  clouds  as 
though  they  were  strands  of  silk  ;  then  they 
drive  them  to  the  west,  crossing  them  over  one 
another  like  the  withies  of  a  basket.  They 
throw  to  one  side  of  this  network  the  clouds 
which  they  have  not  made  use  of,  and  which  are 
not  few  in  number.  They  roll  them  up  into 
immense  white  masses  like  snow,  and  pile  them 
up  one  upon  another,  like  the  Cordilleras  of 
Peru,  giving  to  them  the  forms  of  mountains, 
caverns,  and  rocks.  Then  towards  the  evening 
they  calm  down  a  bit,  as  if  they  feared  to  dis- 
arrange their  work.  When  the  sun  goes  down 
behind  this  magnificent  tracery,  one  sees  through 
all  the  interstices  a  multitude  of  luminous  rays, 
which,  lighting  up  two  sides  of  each  mesh,  seem 
to  illuminate  it  with  a  golden  aureole,  while  the 
other  two  sides,  which  are  in  shadow,  are  tipped 
with  superb  tones  of  pale  red.  Four  or  five 
rays  of  light  rise  from  the  setting  sun  right  to 
the  zenith,  and  edge  with  a  golden  fringe  the 
vaguely-defined  outline  of  this  celestial  barrier, 
throwing  their  glowing  reflections  upon  the 
pyramids  of  the  airy  mountains  beside  them, 
which  appear  gold  and  vermilion.  It  is  then 
that  you  see  in  the  midst  of  their  numerous 
ridges  a  multitude  of  valleys  which  extend  into 


62  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

space,  and  are  marked  at  their  entrance  by 
some  shade  of  flesh  -  colour  or  pink.  The 
celestial  valleys  present  in  their  diverse  contours 
inimitable  tones  of  white,  which  melt  away  into 
space  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  or  shadows 
which  lengthen  out  towards  the  other  clouds 
without  losing  themselves  in  them.  You  see 
here  and  there,  emerging  from  the  cavernous 
sides  of  these  cloud  mountains,  streams  of  light 
which  are  thrown  in  bars  of  gold  and  silver 
upon  rocks  of  coral.  Here  are  gloomy  rocks 
pierced  through  so  that  you  can  see  the  pure 
blue  of  heaven  through  their  apertures  ;  there 
appear  long  stretches  of  golden  sands,  which 
extend  into  the  wondrous  depths  of  the  crimson, 
scarlet,  and  emerald-green  sky.  By  degrees  the 
luminous  clouds  become  faint-coloured,  and  the 
fajnt-coloured  fade  into  shadow.  Their  forms 
are  as  varied  as  their  tints,  and  in  turn  they 
appear  as  islands,  hamlets,  hills  planted  with 
palms,  great  bridges  across  rivers,  countries  of 
gold,  of  amethysts,  of  rubies,  or  rather  there  is 
nothing  of  all  this  but  just  colours  and  heavenly 
forms,  which  no  brush  can  paint,  and  no  tongue 
express." 

The  landscapes  of  the  Voyage  to  the  Isle  of 
France  are  for  the  most  part  very  sad.  Bernar- 
din de  Saint-Pierre  found  the  Isle  of  France 
ugly  and  gloomy,  perhaps  because  he  had  had 


Period  of  Uncertainty.  63 

nothing  but  trouble  there.  Throughout  his 
narrative  he  tries  to  convey  the  impression  of  a 
barren,  cheerless  country,  in  some  places  covered 
with  scorched  grass,  which  makes  it  look  "  black 
as  a  coal-pit,"  in  others  paved  with  stones  of  an 
iron-grey  colour,  which  form  an  unpleasant 
surface  to  a  rugged  country.  Plants,  which  he 
generally  loves  so  much,  do  not  appeal  to  him 
there.  Many  are  thorny,  others  mal-odorous, 
and  the  flowers  are  not  pretty.  He  does  not 
like  the  trees,  they  have  not  the  superb  bearing 
of  French  oaks  and  chestnutsj  and  their  stiff 
leaves  of  dark  green  give  an  effect  of  sadness  to 
the  verdure.  Here  and  there,  however,  one 
comes  across  delightful  spots  where  the  great 
woods  are  enlivened  by  babbling  brooks,  but 
these  solitudes,  the  refuge  for  runaway  slaves, 
are  the  theatre  of  hideous  man-hunts.  You  see 
this  unhappy  quarry  killed  or  wounded  with 
gun-shots,  and  hear  the  crack  of  the  whip  in  the 
air  like  pistol-shots,  and  cries  which  rend  one's 
heart,  "  Spare  me,  master,  have  pity  !  "  To  the 
heart  thus  oppressed  the  beauties  of  the  land- 
scape disappear,  and  one  only  sees  in  it  "  an 
abominable  country."  Abominable  country, 
abominable  abode,  abominable  inhabitants,  for 
the  most  part — that  is,  the  Isle  of  France  of  the 
Voyage — little  in  all  conscience  to  impress  our 
minds  with  the  idea  of  a  beneficent  Providence, 


64  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

careful  of  our  needs.  The  author  saw  this,  Tor 
he  abandoned  this  part  of  his  programme  and 
kept  to  picturesque  effects,  producing  in  the  end 
a  meagre  book,  only  a  rough  sketch  of  what  he 
had  in  his  head. 

The  volume  appeared  in  the  first  months  of 
the  year  1773,  and  in  the  article  of  the  Corres- 
pondence litUrcurti  by  Grunin,  in  the  end  of 
February.  The  letter  which  accompanied  the 
copy  destined  for  Hennin  is  dated  March  17  : 
"  Here  at  last,  sir  and  dear  friend,  is  some  of 
the  fruit  of  my  garden  .  .  .  Send  me  your 
opinion  of  my  Voyage"  Saint-Pierre  added  in 
another  letter  of  the  1st  of  June :  "  My  book 
has  had  a  great  literary  success  ;  but  that  is 
almost  the  only  profit  which  I  have  obtained 
from  it." 

Did  he  really  have  a  great  success  ?  It  is 
doubtful  as  regards  the  masculine  public. 
Hennin  kept  an  obstinate  silence  on  the  subject 
in  his  letters,  to  the  great  disgust  of  the  author, 
who  had  the  bad  taste  to  persist,  and  who  wrote 
to  him  two  years  later  :  "  Why  do  you  not  talk 
to  me  of  my  Voyage  ?  "  Duval,  his  friend  at  St. 
Petersburg,  insinuated  among  his  compliments 
a  few  words  on  the  passages  which  suggested 
'an  imitation  of  Rousseau,  of  Voltaire,  or  of 
Montesquieu."  Grunin  did  not  understand  it  at 
all.  Here  is  the  essential  part  of  his  notice : 


Period  of  Uncertainty.  65 

"  M.  de  Saint-Pierre  is  not  wanting  in  wit,  still 
less  in  feeling  ;  this  last  quality  appears  to  be 
his  especial  and  distinctive  characteristic.  The 
greater  part  of  the  work  consists  of  observations 
made  at  sea,  and  details  of  natural  history. 
That  struck  me  as  very  superficial."  Nothing 
about  the  style,  or  the  descriptive  scenes,  of 
which  the  number  ought,  one  would  think,  to 
have  arrested  his  observation.  Grunin  took  the 
Voyage  for  a  scientific  work  and  found  it  bad  ; 
its  originality  entirely  escaped  him.  It  was  the 
same  thing  with  Leharpe,  who  does  not  even 
mention  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  in  his  Cours 
de  Litterature,  that  is  to  say  that  he  took  little 
notice  of  secondary  works.  Then  Sainte-Beuve, 
who  collected  his  information  with  so  much  care, 
has  contradicted  himself  about  the  effect  pro- 
duced by  the  Voyage  to  the  Isle  of  France.  One 
reads  in  his  first  article  upon  Bernardin  de  Saint- 
Pierre  :  "  This  narrative  had  a  well-deserved 
success,"  x  and  in  his  second  article,  written  thir- 
teen years  later  :  "  The  work  received  very  little 
notice."2 

It  is  curious  to  compare  the  indifference  of 
the  men  towards  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre's 
attempt,  with  the  enthusiasm  of  the  women  for 
the  young  unknown  author  who  had  spoken  to 

1  Portraits  litt£raires,  1836. 

8  Causeries  du  lundi,  1852. 

6 


66          Bemardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

them  of  the  colour  of  the  clouds  and  the  melan- 
choly of  the  great  forests.  Women  arrive  at  a 
conclusion  much  more  quickly  than  men  when 
it  is  a  question  of  feeling.  The  women  who  read 
the  Voyage  to  the  Isle  of  France  understood  at 
once  that  there  was  something  in  it  beyond  mere 
observations  made  at  sea  and  natural  history 
details,  more  even  than  sentimental  tirades  upon 
the  negroes.  They  divined  that  they  were 
being  introduced  to  new  joys,  and  they  hastened 
to  seek  them  under  the  guidance  of  the  sympa- 
thetic master  who  interpreted  Nature  to  them, 
her  beauties,  her  gentleness,  and  her  passion. 
The  interest  which  they  took  in  this  first  work, 
not  very  attractive  as  a  whole,  was  a  sort  of 
miraculous  instinct  on  their  part. 

The  Voyage  to  the  Isle  of  France  had  hardly 
appeared  before  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  set 
to  work  again,  in  spite  of  all  his  protestations 
against  ever  becoming  an  author.  His  diffidence 
had  disappeared.  He  felt  himself  to  be  full  of 
courage  and  spirit,  and  it  was  not  to  his  success 
that  he  owed  this,  but  simply  to  a  visit  which 
he  chanced  to  pay,  and  which  was  in  its  conse- 
quences the  great  event  of  his  career.  "  In  the 
month  of  May,  1772,  a  friend  having  proposed  to 
take  me  to  see  J.  J.  Rousseau,  he  conducted  me  to 
a  house  in  the  rue  Platri^re,  nearly  opposite  to  the 
Post  Office.  We  ascended  to  the  fourth  story  and 


Period  of  Uncertainty.  67 

knocked  at  the  door,  which  was  opened  by  Mme 
Rousseau,  who  said  to  us,  '  Enter,  gentlemen, 
you  will  find  "  my  husband  "  in.'  We  passed 
through  a  tiny  ante-room,  in  which  were  neatly 
arranged  all  the  household  chattels,  to  a  room 
where  J.  J.  Rousseau  was  sitting,  in  a  frock-coat, 
with  a  white  cap  on  his  head,  occupied  in  copy- 
ing music.  He  rose  with  a  smile,  offered  us 
seats,  and  returned  to  his  work,  giving  his  atten- 
tion all  the  while  to  the  conversation."  r 

Rousseau  was  sixty  in  1772;  his  infirmities, 
his  morbid  ideas  on  the  subject  of  persecution, 
and  his  disputes  with  Hume,  had  put  the  finish- 
ing touch  to  his  reputation  as  a  dangerous  lunatic. 
His  visitor  was  struck  with  the  sad  expression 
underlying  his  "  smiling  air."  But  he  was  irre- 
sistible when  he  was  not  roused.  Bernardin  de 
Saint-Pierre  joyfully  yielded  to  this  all-powerful 
fascination.  He  felt  that  he  had  found  the  master 
in  literature  who  had  been  wanting  to  him,  he 
who  was  to  give  him  the  right  impulse  and  direc- 
tion, and  that  by  oral  teaching,  so  much  more 
fruitful  than  written  instruction. 

"  Near  him,"  he  continues,  "  was  a  spinet,  on 
which  from  time  to  time  he  tried  over  some 
airs.  Two  little  beds,  covered  with  coarse 
print,  striped  blue  and  white  like  the  hangings 
of  his  room,  a  chest  of  drawers,  a  table,  and  a  few 

1  Essay  upon  J.  J.  Rousseau. 


68  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

chairs  completed  his  furniture.  On  the  walls 
hung  a  map  of  the  forest  and  park  of  Mont- 
morency,  where  he  had  lived,  and  a  print  of  his 
old  benefactor  the  king  of  England.  His  wife 
was  seated  sewing ;  a  canary  sang  in  its  cage 
suspended  from  the  ceiling  ;  some  sparrows  came 
to  pick  up  bread-crumbs  from  the  window-sills 
on  the  side  of  the  street,  and  on  those  of  the 
ante-room  one  saw  boxes  and  pots  full  of  plants 
such  as  Nature  chose  to  sow  there.  The  whole 
effect  of  this  little  household  was  one  of  cleanli- 
ness, peace,  and  simplicity,  which  gave  one 
pleasure." 

It  suggests  one  of  those  interiors  of  Chardin, 
where  the  neat  little  mistress  of  the  house  in 
white  cap  and  apron  is  busy  about  the  children's 
dinner.  It  is  the  most  charming  picture  we 
possess  of  Rousseau  at  home. 

The  conversation  turned  upon  travels,  the 
news  of  the  day,  and  the  works  of  the  master 
of  the  house.  Rousseau  was  most  gracious  all 
the  time,  and  reconducted  his  visitors  to  the 
head  of  the  stairs ;  but  who  could  tell  with  so 
capricious  a  being  whether  this  first  visit  would 
lead  to  anything  ?  It  did,  in  fact,  to  Bernardin's 
intense  satisfaction.  "  Some  days  after  that  he 
came  to  return  my  visit.  He  had  on  a  round 
wig,  well  powdered  and  curled,  a  nankeen  suit, 
and  carried  his  hat  under  his  arm.  In  his  hand 


Period  of  Uncertainty.  69 

he  held  a  small  cane.  His  whole  appearance 
was  modest  but  very  neat,  as  was  that  of  Socrates, 
we  are  told." 

This  second  interview  also  passed  off  most 
agreeably,  in  looking  at  tropical  plants  and  seeds, 
but  it  was  followed  by  the  first  tiff.  Deceived 
by  the  good-natured  air  of  his  new  friend,  Saint- 
Pierre  included  him  in  a  distribution  he  was 
making  of  coffee,  which  he  had  received  from 
the  Colonies.  Rousseau  wrote  to  him :  "  Sir, 
we  have  only  met  once,  and  you  already  begin 
to  make  me  presents;  that  is  being  a  little  too 
hasty  it  seems  to  me.  As  I  am  not  in  a  position 
to  make  presents  myself,  it  is  my  custom,  in 
order  to  avoid  the  annoyance  of  unequal  friend- 
ships, not  to  receive  the  persons  who  make  me 
presents  ;  you  can  do  as  you  like  about  leaving 
this  coffee  with  me,  or  sending  to  fetch  it ;  but 
in  the  first  case  please  accept  my  thanks,  and 
there  will  be  an  end  of  our  acquaintanceship." 

They  made  it  up  on  condition  that  Saint- 
Pierre  received  "  a  root  of  ginseng  J  and  a  work 
on  Ichthyology,"  in  exchange  for  his  coffee. 
Rousseau,  appeased,  invited  him  to  dinner  for 
the  next  day.  After  the  repast  he  read  his 
MSS.  to  him.  They  talked,  the  hours  flew  by, 
and  there  resulted  from  these  difficult  beginnings 

1  Chinese  name  for  a  bitter-sweet  root  used  in  medicine. — 
TRANSLATOR. 


7o  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

an  intimacy,  stormy,  as  it  was  bound  to  be  with 
Jean  Jacques,  but  wonderfully  fruitful  for  the 
disciple, who  drank  in  deep  draughts  of  the  nectar 
of  poetry,  if  not  of  wisdom,  which  fell  from  the 
master's  lips.  All  this  took  place  during  their 
long  walks  together  in  the  environs  of  Paris. 
They  would  start  on  foot,  early  in  the  morning, 
each  choosing  in  turn  the  direction  of  their 
walk.  Rousseau  loved  the  banks  of  the  Seine 
and  the  heights  above  them,  as  deserted  then  as 
they  are  peopled  to-day.  They  would  go 
through  the  bois  de  Boulogne,  botanizing  as 
they  went  along,  and  they  sometimes  saw  in 
"these  solitudes"  young  girls  occupied  in  making 
their  toilet  in  the  open  air.  A  ferry  boat  would 
land  the  two  friends  at  the  foot  of  Mount 
Vale'rien,  and  they  would  climb  up  to  visit  the 
hermit  at  the  top,  who  would  give  them  food ;  or 
perhaps  Rousseau  would  lead  his  companion 
towards  the  height  of  Sevres,  promising  him 
"  beautiful  pine- woods  and  purple  moors."  The 
"  deserted  commons  "  of  Saint  Cloud  had  also 
their  attractions  ;  nevertheless  all  that  side  of 
Paris  rather  erred  in  the  way  of  extreme  wild- 
ness.  Such  a  powerful  effect  did  Nature  have 
upon  these  her  first  lovers,  intoxicated  with  their 
discoveries,  and  whose  sensations  had  not  been 
discounted  by  descriptions  taken  from  books. 
When  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  was  the 


Period  of  Uncertainty.  71 

guide  they  chose  by  preference  the  direction 
of  Pre"s-Saint-Gervais  and  Romainville.  The 
familiar  and  peaceful  nooks  and  corners  around 
these  attracted  him  more  than  the  extreme  wild- 
ness  of  Sevres  and  Ville-d'Avray.  "  You  have 
shown  me  the  places  which  please  you,"  he  said ; 
"  I  am  now  going  to  show  you  one  which  is  to 
my  taste."  They  passed  by  the  park  of  Saint- 
Fargean,  absorbed  to-day  into  Belleville,  and,  by 
almost  imperceptible  degrees,  gained  the  gentle 
heights  of  those  charming  solitudes — for  they 
were  also  solitudes,  but  less  severe  than  those 
chosen  by  Rousseau  ;  green  grass  there  took  the 
place  of  the  brambles  of  Saint  Cloud,  and 
cherry-trees  and  gooseberry-bushes  the  dark 
pines  of  Sevres.  One  had  not  to  seek  hospi- 
tality from  hermits ;  there  were  inns,  where 
Rousseau  liked  himself  to  make  an  omelet  of 
bacon,  while  Saint-Pierre  made  the  coffee,  a 
luxury  brought  in  a  box  from  Paris.  They 
would  return  by  another  road,  gathering  plants 
and  digging  up  roots  as  they  went ;  and  nothing 
can  express  the  charm  with  which  the  cantan- 
kerous and  suspicious  Jean  Jacques  knew  how  to 
surround  these  excursions.  He  showed  himself 
a  simple-minded,  good  fellow,  an  easy-going  and 
cheery  comrade,  interesting  himself  in  everything, 
talking  of  everything,  and  lavishing  his  ideas 
with  the  magnificent  prodigality  of  the  rich. 


72  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

Whether  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  turned 
the  conversation  upon  philosophy  or  questions 
of  economy,  upon  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  or 
hygiene,  upon  his  father  the  watchmaker,  or  upon 
Voltaire,  the  stream  flowed  on  in  great  waves, 
pouring  out  pell-mell  anecdotes,  aphorisms, 
theories,  descriptions  of  scenery,  and  literary 
opinions.  One  might  have  said  that  he  was 
taking  his  revenge  for  those  conversations  in 
society  in  which  he  was  known  to  fall  short. 
"  My  wit  is  always  half  an  hour  after  that  of 
others,"  he  said  of  himself.  It  was  not  so  in  a 
tete-a-tete,  and  every  one  of  his  words  entered 
like  the  stroke  of  a  plummet  into  his  young 
companion's  mind,  whose  ideas  had  need  of  a 
little  help  before  they  could  burst  forth.  The 
effect  of  all  this  was  not  long  in  showing  itself. 
Saint-Pierre  has  fixed  the  dates  in  a  letter  to 
Hennin  of  July  2,  1778,  six  years  after  his  in- 
timacy with  Rousseau.  "  At  last  I  hope  to  find 
water  in  my  wells  ;  for  six  years  I  have  jotted 
down  a  great  many  ideas,  which  require  putting 
in  order.  Amongst  much  sand  there  are,  I  hope, 
some  grains  of  gold." 

The  enchantment  of  the  walks  lasted  until 
their  return  to  Paris.  Then  Rousseau's  brow 
would  grow  dark  at  the  sight  of  the  first  houses 
of  the  suburb.  His  mania  resumed  possession 
of  him.  He  frowned,  hastened  his  steps,  became 


Period  of  Uncertainty.  73 

taciturn  and  morose.  One  day,  when  his  friend 
tried  to  distract  him,  he  stopped  short,  to  say  to 
him  all  at  once,  in  the  middle  of  the  street : 
"  I  would  rather  be  exposed  to  the  arrows  of 
the  Parthians  than  to  the  gaze  of  men."  This 
mood  would  sometimes  be  prolonged  as  long  as 
they  were  in  the  town,  and  no  one  was  then  safe 
from  the  strokes  of  his  sarcasm. 

"  One  day,  when  I  went  to  return  a  book  .  .  . 
he  received  me  without  saying  a  word,  and  with 
an  austere  and  gloomy  air.  I  spoke  to  him  ;  he 
only  replied  in  monosyllables,  continuing  all  the 
time  to  copy  music  ;  he  struck  out  or  erased  his 
work  every  minute.  To  distract  myself,  I 
opened  a  book  which  was  on  the  table.  '  You 
like  reading,  sir?'  he  said,  in  a  discontented 
tone.  I  got  up  to  go ;  he  rose  at  the  same  time, 
and  reconducted  me  to  the  head  of  the  stairs,  say- 
ing, when  I  begged  him  not  to  trouble  himself: 
'  One  must  be  ceremonious  with  persons  with 
whom  one  is  not  on  a  familiar  footing.' "  Saint- 
Pierre,  hurt,  swore  that  he  would  never  return  ; 
but  they  met,  arranged  another  walk,  and  Rous- 
seau once  more  became  amiable  at  sight  of  the 
first  bushes.  "  At  last,"  he  said,  "  here  we  are 
beyond  the  carriages,  pavements,  and  men." J 

1  He  has  expressed  the  same  sentiment, only  more  energetically, 
in  a  passage  of  the  Huitieme  Promenade,  where  he  represents 
himself  as  escaping  at  last  from  the  "  procession  of  the  wicked." 


74  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

Their  intimacy  lasted  until  after  Rousseau's 
departure  for  Ermenonville  in  1778,  a  short 
time  before  his  death.  His  friend  mourned  his 
loss  bitterly,  and  always  spoke  of  him  with  ten- 
derness and  admiration.  He  did  not  forget 
how  much  he  owed  to  him.  He  acknowledged, 
at  least  in  part — which  is,  after  all,  fine  and 
praiseworthy — that  if  he  had  shown  a  spark  of 
the  sacred  fire,  it  was  Rousseau  who  had  lighted 
it  in  their  intercourse.  He  has  never  sought  to 
hide  the  fact  that  his  works  are  strewn  with 
ideas  which  occurred  to  them  during  their  walks, 
and  which  they  had  discussed  as  they  sauntered 
together  under  the  shadow  of  some  tree,  or  in 
the  green  woodland  paths.  The  results  of  these 
walks  with  Jean  Jacques  will  be  found  in  the 
Etudes  de  la  Nature.  In  comparing  this  work 
with  the  Voyage  to  the  Isle  of  France,  one  can 
see  exactly  what  Bernardin  owed  to  his  illus- 
trious friend.  The  Voyage  proves  to  us  that  he 
knew  what  he  wished  to  do  long  before  he  met 
the  author  of  the  Reveries,  but  that,  at  the  same 
time,  he  would  never  have  reached  the  goal 
without  the  impulse  given  to  him  by  a  genius 
more  robust  than  his  own. 

It  hung  on  quite  a  small  chance  that  his 
career  was  not  blighted  at  the  very  moment 
when  his  fancy  was  preparing  to  take  flight. 
The  success  which  the  Voyage  to  the  Isle  of 


Period  of  Uncertainty.  75 

France  had  with  the  fair  sex  nearly  proved  fatal 
to  its  author.  Their  approval  had  to  be  paid 
for,  as  is  always  the  case.  M.  de  Saint-Pierre 
was  invited  into  the  fashionable  world,  and 
charming  women  flung  themselves  at  his  head, 
with  their  habitual  indiscretion,  and  caused  him 
acute  suffering.  He  had  scruples,  and  he  was 
vain.  The  world  laughed  at  his  scruples,  his 
vanity  could  not  console  him  for  its  scoffs,  and 
the  women  did  not  thank  him  for  his  respect ; 
so  that  his  soul  was  filled'  with  bitterness  and 
disgust.  He  could  not  get  over  the  depravity 
of  society,  and  was  seized  with  a  morbid  irrita- 
tion against  it.  Some  months  after  he  had 
mixed  in  it,  his  imagination  made  it  appear  to 
him  to  be  wholly  and  solely  occupied  in  making 
fun  of  him,  of  his  goodness,  of  his  gentleness, 
of  his  pride,  of  all  the  virtues  that  he  liked  to 
attribute  to  himself,  and  which  he  chose,  as  is 
the  habit  of  all  of  us,  amongst  those  he  least 
possessed.  Soon  he  could  not  hear  any  one 
laugh  without  thinking  they  were  laughing  at 
him,  and  every  gesture  made  him  suspicious. 
He  said  later :  "  I  could  not  even  walk  along  a 
path  in  a  public  garden  where  a  few  people  were 
assembled  without  thinking,  if  they  looked  at 
me,  that  they  were  disparaging  me,  even  if  they 
were  quite  unknown  to  me."  Thirty  years  later 
he  was  still  persuaded  that  Mile,  de  Lespinasse 


76  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

had  intended  to  insult  him  one  day  when  she 
offered  him  a  sweetmeat,  at  the  same  time 
praising  him  for  his  kindness  on  a  recent  occa- 
sion. 

He  fought  duels  in  order  to  put  a  stop  to  the 
whispered  raillery  which  he  thought  he  heard 
around  him.  Two  fortunate  affairs  were  power- 
less to  soothe  his  nerves,  and  strange  disorders 
began  to  make  him  fear  for  his  reason.  He 
consulted  physicians,  who  recommended  diverse 
remedies ;  but  he  required  money  for  them,  and 
his  bookseller  had  not  paid  him.  Meanwhile 
the  evil  grew  from  bad  to  worse,  and  at  last 
came  the  crisis.  "  Flashes  of  light,  resembling 
lightning,  disturbed  my  sight ;  every  object 
appeared  to  me  to  be  double,  and  as  though  in 
motion.  .  .  ,  My  heart  was  not  less  troubled 
than  my  head.  On  the  finest  summer  day  I 
could  not  cross  the  Seine  in  a  boat  without  feel- 
ing intolerable  qualms.  ...  If  in  a  public  gar- 
den I  but  passed  near  the  basin  of  a  fountain  full 
of  water,  I  felt  a  sensation  of  spasm  and  horror. 
There  were  times  when  I  believed  that  I  must 
have  been  bitten  by  a  mad  dog  without  know- 
ing it." 

Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  was  mad,  not  in- 
curably so,  or  enough  to  be  shut  up ;  but,  for  all 
that,  mad.  He  knows  it,  acknowledges  it,  and 
adds  to  his  heartrending  confession  a  note, 


Period  of  Uncertainty.  77 

which  explains  how  he  was  able  to  hide  his 
condition  from  the  world  around  him.  "God 
granted  me  this  signal  favour,  that  however 
much  my  reason  was  disturbed,  I  never  lost  the 
consciousness  of  my  condition  myself,  or  forgot 
myself  before  others.  Directly  I  felt  the  ap- 
proach of  the  paroxysms  of  my  malady,  I  would 
retire  into  solitude."  Here  follows  a  slight 
metaphysical  discussion  upon  "this  extraor- 
dinary reason,"  which  warned  him  "that  his 
ordinary  reason  was  disturbed." 

Just  about  the  same  time  his  brother  Dutailly 
began  the  series  of  extravagances  which  obliged 
them  to  shut  him  up. 

Meantime,  the  world  from  which  Bernardin 
de  Saint-Pierre  had  succeeded  in  hiding  himself, 
was  without  indulgence  for  him,  and  pronounced 
him  to  be  wicked,  while  he  was  in  reality  only 
unhappy.  We  have  now  arrived  at  the  years  of 
pain,  of  physical  and  moral  distress,  of  equivocal 
ills,  absurd  suspicions,  quarrels,  ill-will,  and, 
alas  !  of  begging.  Some  of  his  friends  became 
estranged  by  his  incomprehensible  humour, 
others  gave  him  up,  and  of  this  number  were 
"the  philosophers,"  d'Alembert,  Condorcet,  all 
the  intimates  of  Mile,  de  Lespinasse.  Ber- 
nardin de  Saint-Pierre  has,  in  an  Apologie 
addressed  to  Mme.  Necker  to  beg  her  protec- 
tion, nai'vely  explained  that  he  quarrelled  with 


78  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

"the  philosophers  "  because  they  failed  to  induce 
Turgot  to  help  him.  "If  they  had  been  my 
friends,"  he  adds,  with  indignation,  "could  they 
have  acted  so  ?  Pensions,  easy  posts,  rings  for 
their  fingers,  are  distributed  to  their  clients, 
while  to  me  they  only  come  to  advise  me  to 
leave  the  country,  although  I  showed  them  that 
I  had  the  greatest  repugnance  to  such  a  course."1 
(January  26,  1780.) 

He  retired  from  the  world,  living  an  unsociable 
life  in  a  miserable  lodging-house,  not  willingly 
seeing  any  one  but  Rousseau,  so  well  able  to 
understand  a  misanthrope,  and  a  few  faithful 
friends  who  put  up  with  all  his  moods,  at  the 
head  of  whom  was  Hennin,  whose  patience  was 
admirable.  The  position  which  the  latter  held 
in  the  Foreign  Office  led  to  his  being  charged 
with  the  presentation  of  the  petitions  that  his 
gloomy  and  needy  friend  addressed  to  the 
ministers ;  and  the  task  was  not  an  easy  or 
pleasant  one,  as  their  correspondence  testifies. 
Saint-Pierre  begged  shamelessly.  "  I  have 
neither  linen  nor  clothes ;  my  excursions  on 
foot  have  worn  them  out.  If  you  wish  to  see 
me  again,  induce  them  to  give  me  the  means  of 
appearing.  You  know  that  your  department 

1  This  curious  note  does  not  appear  in  the  complete  works. 
It  formed  part  of  the  collection  of  autographs  belonging  to  M. 
Feuillet  de  Conches.  I  owe  the  information  to  the  kindness  of 
Mme.  Feuitell  de  Conches. 


Period  of  Uncertainty.  79 

decidedly  owes  me  something.  .  .  .  Do  remem- 
ber to  think  of  me  in  the  distribution  of  the 
king's  favours  ;  I  need  them  greatly.  ...  I  am 
reduced  to  borrowing,  and  I  have  nothing  to 
expect  till  February  of  next  year."  And  so  on 
from  month  to  month,  if  not  from  week  to  week. 
If  there  was  delay  in  sending  the  money,  M. 
Hennin  would  receive  a  bitter  letter,  in  which 
M.  de  Saint-Pierre  would  excuse  himself  for  not 
having  visited  him  on  account  of  the  bad  weather, 
adding:  "If  I  had  received 'the  favour  which 
you  led  me  to  hope  for,  I  should  have  taken  a 
carriage."  If  the  money  was  forthcoming,  it 
was  still  worse  for  Hennin,  because  of  the  cere- 
monies with  which  it  had  to  be  conveyed  to  its 
recipient.  There  is  amongst  their  correspon- 
dence a  series  of  letters  which  are  quite  comic, 
about  a  sum  of  ^"300  that  Saint-Pierre  had 
begged  hard  for,  and  which  he  wished  M.  de 
Vergennes  personally  to  press  him  to  accept. 
He  demands  a  "  letter  of  satisfaction  and  kind- 
ness "  from  the  minister,  written  with  his  own 
hand,  without  which  he  refuses  the  ^"300. 
Silence  on  the  part  of  Hennin,  who  is  evidently 
overcome  by  this  extraordinary  pretentious- 
ness ;  uneasiness  on  the  part  of  Bernardin,  who 
trembles  lest  he  should  be  taken  at  his  word. 
The  ^"300  are  sent  to  him ;  he  pockets  them, 
spends  them,  and  continues  to  claim  his  letter. 


8o  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

A  year   later   he   is   still   claiming   it,  without 
having  ceased  to  beg  in  the  meantime. 

It  is  true  that  this  took  place  at  a  time  when 
the  bounties  of  the  king  conferred  honour  upon 
the  recipient,  and  when  the  nobility  of  France 
set  the  example  of  holding  out  the  hat  to  catch 
the  royal  manna.  It  is  true  that  it  took  place 
very  near  the  time  when  the  man  of  letters  lived 
upon  his  servile  dedications,  upon  inferior  em- 
ployments among  the  rich  and  great,  and  con- 
sidered himself  only  too  happy,  in  the  absence 
of  copyright,  to  repay  in  flatteries  the  rent  of  a 
room  at  the  Louvre  or  the  Cond6  mansion.  It 
is  true  that  one  must  not  ask  for  a  strict  account 
from  a  brain  disturbed  by  hallucinations,  and 
that  nothing  could  relieve  the  mind  of  Barnardin 
de  Saint-Pierre  of  the  idea  that  the  French 
Government  owed  him  compensation  for  his 
journey  to  Poland,  where  he  assured  them  he 
had  run  the  risk  of  being  taken  by  the  Russians 
and  sent  to  Siberia.  It  was  the  same  with  the 
memorials,  with  which  for  fifteen  years  he 
harassed  people  in  office,  and  the  others  which 
he  promised  to  send  them.  The  same  with  the 
situations  which  he  had  lost  through  his  own 
fault,  and  those  which  had  been  refused  to  him. 
The  same  with  his  literary  works,  to  which  he 
gave  up  his  time,  and  which  had  for  their  aim  the 
happiness  of  mankind ;  and  the  same  with  the 


Period  of  Uncertainty.  81 

services  which  he  had  rendered  to  his  country,  a 
long  list  of  which  appears  in  the  Apologie.  "  I 
remember  that  in  the  park  at  Versailles  I  pacified 
an  infuriated  Breton  peasant  woman,  who  in- 
tended, she  informed  me,  to  go  and  get  up  a 
riot  under  the  very  windows  of  the  king.  This 
was  during  the  bread  riots.  Another  time  I 
had  a  discussion  with  an  atheistical  reaper." 
How  was  it  possible  to  refuse  a  pension  to  a 
man  who  had  done  that ! 

In  common  justice  they  owed  him  also  com- 
pensation for  the  great  and  glorious  things 
they  had  prevented  him  from  accomplishing. 
He  had  ripened  his  plan  of  an  ideal  colony,  and 
sent  project  after  project  to  Versailles.  Some- 
times he  offered  himself  to  civilise  Corsica, 
sometimes  to  conquer  Jersey,  or  North  America, 
or  to  found  a  small  state  in  France  itself,  within 
the  king's  dominions.  Nobody  had  deigned  to 
take  any  notice  of  his  plans,  unless  perhaps 
"some  intriguing,  avaricious  protege""  should 
have  stolen  his  ideas  and  was  preparing  to 
carry  them  out  in  his  stead ;  such  things  did 
happen  sometimes.  He  laid  the  blame  of  the 
culpable  negligence  of  the  Government  upon  the 
head  clerk  of  the  Foreign  Office,  and  he  did 
not  spare  his  reproaches.  The  excellent 
Hennin  groaned,  grieved  over  it,  but  did  not 
get  angry.  He  himself  counted  upon  recom- 
7 


82  Bernardin  cte  St.  Pierre. 

pense  also,  and  he  did  not  count  in  vain.  As 
soon  as  this  mind  diseased  recovered  itself  a 
little,  there  were  most  delightful  outpourings  to 
the  good  and  true  friend  who  was  never  harsh 
or  unfeeling.  Then  there  are  periods  in  their 
correspondence  like  oases  of  peace  and  poetry. 
In  the  beginning  of  1781  Bernardin  de  Saint- 
Pierre,  at  Hennin's  suggestion,  quitted  his 
wretched  furnished  room,  and  took  a  lodging 
in  the  rue  Neuve-  Saint-Etienne-du-Mont, 
which  he  called  his  donjon,  and  where  cheer- 
fulness streamed  in  at  every  window.  The 
staircase  was  in  the  courtyard  to  the  right,  and 
on  ascending  to  the  fourth  story  under  the  roof, 
one  found  four  small  bright  rooms,  from  which 
one  looked  out  upon  a  little  bit  of  country.  It 
was  nothing  but  gardens,  orchards,  convents, 
peaceful  little  cottages,  the  wide  sky  overhead, 
and  the  low  horizon.  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre 
felt  that  he  was  saved.  He  wrote  a  letter  to 
Hennin  which  is  a  song  of  joy.  He  says  : — 

"  I  shall  come  to  see  you  with  the  first  violet ; 
I  shall  have  to  walk  five  miles,  but  shall  do  it 
joyfully,  and  I  intend  to  give  you  such  a  des- 
cription of  my  abode  as  will  make  you  long  to 
come  and  see  me  and  take  a  meal  with  me. 
Horace  invited  Mecsenas  to  come  to  his  cottage 
at  Tivoli,  to  eat  a  quarter  of  lamb  and  drink 
Falernian  wine.  As  my  purse  is  getting  very 


Period  of  Uncertainty,  83 

low,  I  shall  only  offer  you  strawberries  and 
mugs  of  milk,  but  you  will  have  the  pleasure 
of  hearing  the  nightingales  sing  in  the  groves 
of  the  convent  of  the  English  nuns,  and  of 
seeing  the  young  novices  play  in  their  garden." 
(February  7,  1781.) 

Another  year  April  perfumes  the  air,  and 
Hennin  has  promised  to  come  and  dine  in  the 
donjon.  His  friend  describes  the  menu  to  him  : 
"  Simple  viands,  amongst  which  will  be  found  a 
big  pie  that  Mme.  Mesnard  is  going  to  give  me  ; 
a  pure  wine,  good  of  its  kind  ;  excellent  coffee, 
and  punch,  which  I  make  well,  let  me  say 
without  vanity."  It  is  a  question  of  fixing  a 
day.  "  Nature  must  undertake  the  chief  cost  of 
this  little  feast,  therefore  I  expect  she  will  have 
carpeted  the  paths  with  verdure  and  decorated 
the  groves  of  trees  in  my  landscape  with  leaves 
and  flowers.  If  you  were  an  observer  of  nature, 
I  should  say  to  you  start  the  very  first  day  that 
you  see  the  chestnut  tree  set  out  its  chandeliers  ; 
but  you  are  one  of  those  who  only  have  eyes 
for  the  evolution  of  human  forces.  Let  me 
know  the  day  you  choose,"  &c. 

The  dinner  was  as  charming  as  the  invitation. 
It  was  talked  of  at  Versailles,  and  some  fair 
dames  lamented  aloud  that  they  had  not  been 
invited. 

To  most   of  them   the    donjon   would   have 


84  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

appeared  a  hateful  abode :  one  froze  in  it  in 
winter  and  was  roasted  in  summer,  and  every 
gust  of  wind  threatened  to  blow  it  away. 
Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre,  obstinate  dreamer 
that  he  was,  preserved  all  his  life  the  most 
tender  and  faithful  remembrance  of  his  aerial 
lodging :  "  It  was  there,"  he  wrote  in  his  mature 
age,  "  in  the  midst  of  a  profound  solitude,  and 
under  a  bewitching  horizon,  that  I  experienced 
the  sweetest  joys  of  my  life.  I  should  perhaps 
still  be  there  if  for  a  whim  they  had  not  forced 
me  to  turn  out  in  order  to  pull  it  down.  It  was 
there  that  I  put  the  finishing  touches  to  my 
Etudes  de  la  Nature,  and  from  there  I  published 
it."  x  And  it  is  there  that  one  must  look  upon 
him  in  order  to  do  him  justice  after  our  earlier 
sad  pictures  of  him. 

Before  he  had  become  a  morose  beggar, 
suffering  with  weak  nerves,  he  was,  we  must 
remember,  possessed  with  the  idea  that  to  a 
man  carrying  in  his  head  a  book  which  he 
believes  to  be  good  and  useful,  all  means  are 
fair  for  accomplishing  his  destiny  of  creative 
artist  and  intellectual  guide.  He  recognises  no 
choice  of  means,  he  is  the  slave,  and  at  need 
the  victim  of  a  superior  power,  which  commands 
him  to  sacrifice  his  repose  and  his  pride  on 
condition  that  he  acquits  himself  of  his  debt 

1  Sequel  to  the  Vows  of  a  Hermit. 


Period  of  Uncertainty.  85 

towards  mankind  by  giving  to  it  a  work  which 
will  bring  a  little  happiness  to  our  poor  world. 
Bernardin  de  Saint- Pierre  was  quite  certain  that 
he  possessed  the  magic  word  which  lifts  up  the 
heart,  and  rather  than  throw  it  to  the  four  winds 
of  heaven,  he  would  have  begged  alms  on  the 
highway.  Was  he  right  ?  was  he  wrong  ?  We 
owe  it  to  his  great  faith  to  leave  our  verdict 
undecided. 

Think  of  him  in  his  garret,  and  you  will 
understand  that  he  begged  not  for  himself,  but 
for  his  book,  which  is  a  very  different  matter. 
He  is  avaricious  because  he  hopes  still  to  write 
another  chapter  before  going  on  the  tramp 
again.  He  has  only  one  coat  for  the  whole 
year,  winter  and  summer.  He  does  his  own 
housekeeping,  sweeps,  cleans,  cooks.  He  allows 
himself  so  little  firing  that  in  winter  the  water 
remains  frozen  for  eight  days  in  his  rooms,  and 
his  pitchers  burst.  He  goes  on  foot  to  Ver- 
sailles to  see  Hennin,  and  returns  in  the  same 
way  at  night ;  all  the  better  if  it  is  moonlight, 
all  the  worse  if  it  rains.  His  health  suffers,  but 
his  head  recovers,  and  he  is  happy  ;  he  has  a 
"whole  trunk"  full  of  rough  draughts,  which  he 
copies,  corrects,  and  arranges.  "  You  cannot 
imagine,"  he  writes  to  Hennin,  "  the  tenderness 
of  an  author  for  his  production  ;  that  of  a  mother 
for  her  son  is  not  to  be  compared  to  it.  I  am 


86  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

always  adding  to  or  cutting  out  something  of 
mine.  A  bear  does  not  lick  her  cub  with  more 
care  than  I ;  I  fear  in  the  end  I  shall  rub  away 
the  muzzle  of  mine  with  my  licking.  I  do  not 
wish  to  touch  it  any  more.  .  .  .  There  have 
been  moments  when  I  have  caught  a  glimpse  of 
heaven."  (December  18,  1783.) 

When  the  moment  arrives  to  have  his  work 
printed,  he  redoubles  his  economy.  He  is 
sordid  and  at  the  same  time  a  greater  borrower, 
more  in  debt  than  ever ;  for  after  all  it  is  in 
order  to  commit  some  extravagance  for  his 
"  child  " — to  have  fine  paper,  to  add  a  print  here, 
a  pretty  frontispiece  there.  The  extravagance 
accomplished,  he  writes  to  Hennin,  one  of  his 
principal  lenders,  to  demonstrate  to  him  that 
this  is  an  excellent  speculation : — 

"  It  is  not  a  superfluous  expense,  even  if  the 
print  in  12°  itself  comes  to  fourteen  or  fifteen 
pounds,  because  it  is  possible  that  many  people 
will  buy  my  work  for  the  print  alone,  as  has 
happened  to  others.  Moreover,  I  shall  raise  the 
price  of  my  edition  with  it,  so  as  to  reap  more 
than  I  sowed.  So  .  .  ."  (June  29,  1784.) 

Thus  it  was  as  clear  as  noonday  that  this 
lovely  engraving  would  make  his  fortune,  a  very 
important  matter  to  his  creditors.  We  do  not 
possess  Hennin's  reply,  but  there  is  no  doubt, 
after  what  we  know  of  his  kindness,  that  he 
made  pretence  of  being  convinced. 


III. 

THE  "  £TUDES  DE  LA  NATURE." 

THE  Etudes  de  la  Nature  appeared  in  three 
volumes  towards  the  end  of  1784.  It  did  not 
then  comprise  the  fragments  of  I'Arcaelie, 
which  have  been  since  added  to  it,  nor  Paul 
and  Virginia,  which  the  author  had  cut  out  in 
consequence  of  an  adventure  that  has  been  re- 
counted a  thousand  times,  and  that  we  must 
recount  yet  again  in  order  to  give  consolation 
to  any  disappointed  young  man  who  may  be 
breaking  his  heart  because  he  is  not  understood. 
Mme.  Necker  had  invited  him  to  come  and 
read  some  of  his  MSS.  aloud,  promising  that 
he  should  have  for  his  audience  some  dis- 
tinguished judges.  Amongst  them  were  in 
fact  Buffon,  the  Abbe  Galiani,  Thomas,  Necker, 
and  some  others.  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre 
chose  Paul  and  Virginia,  At  first  they 
listened  in  silence,  then  they  began  to  whisper, 
to  pay  less  attention,  to  yawn,  and  finally  not 
to  listen  at  all.  Thomas  fell  asleep,  those 
nearest  the  door  slipped  out,  Buffon  looked  at 


88  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

his  watch  and  called  for  his  carnage.  Necker 
smiled  at  seeing  some  of  the  women,  who  dared 
not  appear  otherwise  touched,  in  tears.  The 
reading  ended,  not  one  of  these  persons,  though 
trained  in  the  world's  deceits,  could  find  a  word 
of  praise  for  the  author.  Mme.  Necker  was  the 
only  person  to  speak,  and  it  was  to  remark  that 
the  conversations  between  Paul  and  the  old 
man  suspended  the  action  of  the  story,  and 
chilled  the  reader  ;  that  it  was  "  a  glass  of  iced 
water  "  :  a  very  just  definition,  but  ungracious, 
and  it  reduced  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  to 
despair. 

He  thought  he  was  condemned  without 
appeal,  and  returned  to  his  house  so  prostrated 
in  spirit  that  he  thought  of  burning  Paul  and 
Virginia,  the  £tudes>  and  I'Arcadie — all  his 
papers  in  fact — so  as  not  to  be  tempted  to 
touch  them  again.  One  of  the  Vernets  turned 
up  at  this  crisis,  took  pity  upon  his  suffering, 
had  the  despised  work  read  over  to  him,  and 
recognised  the  charm  of  it.  He  applauded, 
wept,  proclaimed  it  a  masterpiece,  the  MSS. 
are  saved,  and  the  author  consoled,  without, 
however,  gaining  sufficient  courage  to  print  a 
work  which  had  sent  Thomas  to  sleep,  and  put 
Buffon  to  flight  Paul  and  Virginia  remained 
in  a  drawer. 

It  was  the  same  with  the  fragments  of  the 


The  "Etudes  de  la  Nature?        89 

Arcadie,  and  with  much  more  reason.  L1  Area- 
die,  begun  after  the  publication  of  the  Voyage 
to  the  Isle  of  France,  was  to  be  an  epic  poem 
in  prose  in  twelve  books,  and  was  inspired  by 
Telemaque  and  Robinson  Crusoe.  Saint-Pierre 
proposed  "to  represent  the  three  successive 
states  through  which  most  nations  pass:  that 
of  barbarism,  of  nature,  and  of  corruption."1 
Notice  in  passing  this  progression.  The  state  of 
nature  is  not  the  first  state,  it  is  between  the 
two,  after  the  state  of  barbarism  and  before  the 
state  of  over- civilisation,  which  proves  that 
before  admiring  or  despising  natural  man, 
according  to  the  eighteenth  century,  it  is  as 
well  to  understand  the  sense  which  each  writer 
gives  to  the  words. 

The  picture  of  these  three  states  furnished  our 
author  with  the  means  of  expressing  his  ideas 
upon  the  ideal  republic  which  he  proposed  to 
form.  Thus  V Arcadie  became  the  instrument 
of  propagandism,  just  the  thing  to  lead  M.  de 
Saint-Pierre  to  fortune,  and  he  never  forgave 
himself  for  having  given  up  this  work,  a  little 
through  Rousseau's  fault,  who  proclaimed  the 
plan  of  the  book  admirable,  but,  nevertheless, 
advised  him  to  re-write  it  from  beginning  to 
end.  Jean  Jacques  acknowledged  at  the  same 
time,  with  a  smile,  that  he  had  ceased  to  believe 
1  Introduction  to  V Arcadie. 


9O  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

in  poetical  and  virtuous  shepherds  since  a 
certain  journey  which  he  had  taken  beside  the 
Lignon  :  "  I  once  made  an  excursion  to  Forez," 
he  continued,  with  the  geniality  of  his  good  days, 
"  solely  to  see  the  country  of  Celadon  and 
Astrea,  of  which  Urfe  gives  us  such  charming 
pictures.  Instead  of  loving  shepherds,  I  only 
saw  on  the  banks  of  the  Lignon  farriers, 
blacksmiths,  and  edge-tool  makers."  "  What !  " 
cried  Saint-Pierre,  overwhelmed  with  astonish- 
ment, "that  all,  in  so  delightful  a  country?" 
"  It  is  only  a  country  of  smithies,"  replied  Rous- 
seau. "  It  was  that  journey  to  Forez  which  cured 
me  of  my  illusion  ;  up  to  that  time  never  a  year 
passed  without  my  reading  Astrea  from  end  to 
end.  I  was  acquainted  with  all  its  characters. 
Thus  does  science  rob  us  of  our  pleasures.1  " 

It  was  in  the  bois  de  Boulogne,  seated  under 
a  tree,  that  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau  taught  his 
astonished  disciple  not  to  take  the  Astrea  for 
history.  He  also  told  him  with  great  modesty 
that  he  felt  himself  incapable  of  governing  the 
Republic  of  their  dreams  ;  that  all  he  could 

1  That  is  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre's  account  of  the  con- 
versation. In  reality,  Rousseau  had  not  visited  le  Forez.  He 
had  been  tempted  to  go  there,  but  was  dissuaded  from  his 
project  by  "a  landlady"  whom  he  consulted  as  to  the  route 
he  should  follow,  and  whose  description  prevented  him  from 
going  to  seek  Dianas  and  Sylvanders  amongst  a  population  of 
blacksmiths.  (The  Confessions,  year  I732-) 


The  "Etudes  de  la  Nature"       91 

do  would  be  to  live  in  it.  This  declaration 
piqued  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre ;  he  thought 
he  perceived  an  underlying  criticism,  and  en- 
larged with  enthusiasm  upon  the  sublime  virtues 
of  his  future  subjects  which  would  make  them 
easy  to  govern.  But  even  while  disputing 
about  it  he  grew  disgusted  with  I'Arcadie,  put 
it  on  one  side,  and  used  up  the  materials  for  his 
Etudes.  Posterity  has  no  reason  to  regret  it. 
The  fragments  which  have  reached  us  suggest 
a  work  in  which  the  ideas  are  false  and  the 
characters  conventional.  One  reads  in  it  for 
example :  "  One  could  see  by  her  timidity  that 
she  was  a  shepherdess."  The  contrary  is  the 
case  in  point  of  fact,  and  Saint-Pierre  knew  it 
better  than  any  one ;  he  who  had  trotted  on 
foot  through  the  whole  of  Normandy  in 
quest  of  models  for  his  heroes,  before  tracing  the 
portraits  of  the  beautiful  Cyane"e  of  Tirtee,  her 
father,  and  their  guest  Amasis.  His  rustics  seem 
to  be  drawn  by  a  wit  who  is  a  clumsy  imitator 
of  Pension.  He  was  quite  wise  to  give  it  up. 

According  to  his  correspondence,  the  Etudes 
de  la  Nature  was  begun  in  1773.  The  plan  of 
it  was  at  that  time  gigantic.  He  informs  us  on 
the  first  page  that  he  wished  "  to  write  a  general 
history  of  nature,  in  imitation  of  Aristotle,  of 
Pliny,  of  Bacon,  and  other  modern  celebrities." 
He  set  to  work,  but  he  soon  acknowledged,  in 


92  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

making  his  observations  of  a  strawberry-plant, 
that  he  would  never  have  the  time  to  observe  all 
that  there  is  on  the  earth.  Although  the  page 
upon  the  strawberry-plant  has  become  classical, 
it  is  as  well  to  re-read  it  in  order  to  be  able 
to  realise  its  effect  upon  readers,  who  up  to 
that  time  had  dwelt  upon  our  beautiful  Mother 
Earth  deaf  and  blind,  without  hearing  the 
pulsation  of  her  life,  without  seeing  her  pro- 
digious eternal  productiveness. 

"One  summer  day  ...  I  perceived  upon  a 
strawberry-plant,  which  had  by  chance  been 
placed  upon  my  window-sill,  a  lot  of  little  flies, 
so  pretty,  that  I  became  possessed  of  the  wish 
to  describe  them.  The  next  day  I  saw  another 
kind,  and  of  them  also  I  wrote  a  description. 
During  three  weeks  I  observed  thirty-seven 
different  species  of  them ;  but  they  came  in 
such  numbers  at  last,  and  in  so  many  varieties, 
that  I  gave  up  the  study  of  them,  although  it 
was  most  interesting,  because  I  had  not  sufficient 
leisure,  or,  to  tell  the  truth,  sufficient  command 
of  language  for  the  task. 

"  The  flies  which  I  did  observe  were  distin- 
guished from  each  other  by  their  colours,  their 
forms,  and  their  habits.  There  were  some  of  a 
golden  hue,  some  silver,  some  bronze,  speckled, 
striped,  blue,  green,  some  dusky,  some  irridescent. 
In  some  the  head  was  round  like  a  turban  ;  in 


The  "Etudes  de  la  Nature''       93 

others,  flat  like  the  head  of  a  nail.  In  some 
they  appeared  dark  like  a  spot  of  black  velvet ; 
in  others,  they  shone  out  like  a  ruby.  There 
was  no  less  variety  in  their  wings  ;  some  had 
them  long  and  brilliant  like  a  sheet  of  mother- 
o'-pearl ;  in  others,  they  were  short  and  broad, 
resembling  the  meshes  of  the  finest  gauze. 
Each  one  had  its  own  way  of  carrying  its  wings 
and  of  using  them.  Some  carried  them  erect, 
and  others  horizontally,  and  they  seemed  to  take 
pleasure  in  spreading  them  out.  Some  would 
fly,  fluttering  about  like  butterflies ;  others 
would  rise  in  the  air,  flying  against  the  wind 
by  aid  of  a  mechanism  somewhat  resembling 
toy  beetles.  Some  would  alight  upon  a  plant 
to  deposit  their  eggs  ;  others  simply  to  seek 
shelter  from  the  sun.  But  most  of  them  came 
for  reasons  which  were  quite  unknown  to  me  ; 
for  some  flew  to  and  fro  in  perpetual  movement, 
while  others  only  moved  their  backs.  There 
were  some  who  remained  quite  immoveable, 
and  were,  perhaps,  like  me,  engaged  in  making 
observations.  I  disdained,  as  I  already  knew 
them  so  well,  all  the  tribes  of  other  insects  which 
were  attracted  to  my  strawberry- plant :  such  as 
the  snails  which  nestled  under  its  leaves;  the 
butterflies  which  fluttered  around  it;  the  beetles 
which  dug  at  its  roots ;  the  little  worms  which 
found  the  means  of  living  in  the  cellular  tissue, 


94  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

that  is  to  say,  simply  in  the  thickness  of  a  leaf; 
the  wasps  and  the  bees  which  hummed  about  its 
flowers ;  the  aphis  which  sucked  the  stems,  the 
ants  which  ate  up  the  aphis ;  and  last  of  all,  the 
spiders  which  wove  their  webs  near  at  hand  in 
order  to  catch  all  these  different  victims." 

He  then  had  recourse  to  the  microscope  to 
examine  into  the  world  of  the  infinitely  little, 
and  saw  that  the  only  limit  to  his  observation 
was  the  imperfections  of  our  instruments ;  each 
leaf  of  the  strawberry-plant  was  a  little  universe 
in  which  creatures  invisible  to  the  naked  eye 
were  born,  lived,  and  died.  This  led  to  the 
reflection  that  his  plant  would  be  more  densely 
peopled  if  it  had  not  been  in  a  pot,  in  the  midst 
of  the  smoke  of  Paris  ;  that,  moreover,  he  had 
only  made  his  observations  of  it  at  one  hour 
of  the  day,  and  at  one  season  of  the  year ;  and 
he  perceived  that  the  complete  history  of  one 
species  of  plant,  comprising  its  relations  with 
the  animal  world,  would  be  sufficient  to  occupy 
several  naturalists.  His  thoughts  turned  to  the 
immense  number  of  plants  and  animals  known 
to  us,  and  to  the  small  amount  of  attention 
which  up  to  that  time  had  been  given  to  their 
instincts,  their  appearances,  their  friendships  and 
enmities,  so  that  almost  everything  remained 
still  to  be  found  out.  He  thought  over  the 
weakness  of  his  intention,  and  acknowledged 


The  "Etudes  de  la  Nature."       95 

himself  vanquished  at  the  outset  Far  from 
being  able  to  embrace  in  his  work  this  for- 
midable mass  of  information  which  we  call 
creation,  he  felt  himself  incapable  of  explaining 
fully  even  its  details.  "  All  my  ideas,"  he  wrote 
to  Hennin,  "are  but  the  shadows  of  nature, 
collected  by  another  shadow."  He  also  com- 
pared himself  to  a  child  who  has  dug  a  hole 
in  the  sand  with  a  shell,  to  contain  the  sea.  So 
he  gave  up  his  project  of  writing  a  general 
history,  and  lowered  his  ambition  till  it  was 
more  in  accordance  with  his  powers,  declaring 
himself  satisfied  that  he  had  given  his  readers 
some  new  delights,  and  extended  their  views 
in  the  infinite  and  mysterious  world  of  nature. 

Nevertheless,  if  his  work  was  given  to  the 
public  only  in  a  curtailed  and  mutilated  form, 
his  object  remained,  The  Etudes  de  la  Nature 
was  destined  to  paraphrase  the  first  part  of 
Pension's  Traite"  de  T  existence  de  Dieu,  especially 
of  the  second  chapter,  entitled  "  Proofs  of  the 
Existence  of  God,  taken  from  the  Consideration 
of  the  Chief  Marvels  of  Nature."  Bernardin  de 
Saint-Pierre  was  born  religious  at  heart  in  an 
age  which  had  "  lost  the  taste  for  God,"  to  use 
Bossuet's  expression,  when  believers  themselves 
were  wanting  in  spirit  and  tenderness.  He  was 
brought  up  upon  the  celebrated  phrase  of 
Voltaire — "The  people  must  have  a  religion" 


96  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

— and  never  could  reconcile  himself  to  hear 
repeated  around  him  that  in  truth,  "  Religion 
is  the  portion  of  the  people,  just  a  kind 
of  political  engine  invented  to  keep  them  in 
check "  (Etudes).  Atheism  seemed  to  him  a 
diminution  of  our  being,  a  lessening  of  its  most 
noble  sensations  and  its  most  elevated  emotions. 
"  It  is  only  religion,"  he  said,  "  which  gives  to 
our  passions  a  lofty  character  "  ;  and  he  related, 
apropos  of  this,  that  the  day  on  which  he  him- 
self had  perceived  most  vividly  the  power  of 
the  "divine  majesty "  of  suffering  was  in 
contemplating  a  peasant  woman  from 
Caux  prostrated  at  the  foot  of  the  cross 
one  stormy  day,  praying,  with  clasped 
hands,  her  eyes  cast  up  to  heaven,  for 
a  boat  which  was  in  danger.  The  seven- 
teenth century  would  not  have  admitted  for 
poetical  reasons  that  they  believed  thus  in  God. 
Men's  minds  were  then  too  serious  ;  and  the 
great  spiritual  directors  of  the  time  of  Bossuet 
and  Bourdaloue,  without  mentioning  the  Janse- 
nists,  would  have  been  shocked  at  the  sentimental 
religion  of  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre.  But 
the  eighteenth  century  had  taught  men  to  be 
less  nice,  and  such  things  appeared  to  it  to  be 
sublime. 

It  must  be  said  that  they  were  very  tired  of 
arguments  and  philosophy,  and  the  idea   that 


The  " Etudes  de  la  Nature"       97 

they  might  seek  for  truth  by  some  less  tiresome 
paths  was  very  pleasing.  They  had  for  so  long 
lived  like  the  Carthusian  friars  of  the  Harmonies. 
"  One  day  one  of  my  friends  went  to  visit  a 
Carthusian  friar.  It  was  the  month  of  May  ; 
the  garden  of  the  recluse  was  covered  with 
flowers,  in  the  borders  and  on  the  fruit-trees. 
As  for  him,  he  had  shut  himself  up  in  his  room, 
from  which  he  could  see  absolutely  nothing. 
'  Why,'  asked  my  friend,  '  have  you  closed  your 
shutters?'  'In  order,'  replied  the  friar,  'to  be 
able  to  meditate  without  distraction  on  the 
attributes  of  God.'  '  Ah ! '  said  my  friend, 
'  don't  you  think  that  perhaps  you  may  find 
greater  distraction  in  your  own  heart  than 
nature  would  give  to  you  in  the  month  of 
May  ?  Take  my  advice,  open  your  shutters 
and  shut  the  door  upon  your  imagination.' " 

Open  your  shutters  and  shut  your  books, 
cried  this  new-comer  in  the  world  of  letters. 
Nature  is  the  source  of  everything  which 
is  ingenious,  useful,  pleasant  and  beautiful, 
but  she  must  be  contemplated  in  all  simplicity 
of  heart  It  is  for  our  happiness  that  she  hides 
from  us  the  laws  which  govern  her  mighty 
forces,  and  there  is  a  kind  of  thoughtless  im- 
piety in  wishing  to  penetrate  too  deeply  into 
her  mysteries.  Besides,  we  always  fail,  and  our 
imprudent  efforts  only  succeed  in  adding  the 
8 


98  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

mist  of  our  errors  to  the  cloud  which  veils  her 
divinity.     Let  us    make  up  our  minds  to  not 
being  taken  into  the  Divine  confidence  ;  content 
to  examine  Nature  at  work,  observing  her  work 
without  studying  it  on  a  system,  forgetting  what 
the  scholars  and  the  academies  have  decided  and 
decreed  as  a  matter  of  doctrine.     The  forces  of 
Nature,  ever  young  and  active,  form  one  of  the 
most  wonderful  and  admirable  spectacles  which 
the  universe  affords  us.     The  same  spirit  of  life 
which  formed  our  world  out  of  chaos,  continues* 
to  develop  the  germs  under  our  eyes,  to  repair 
the   wounded  plants   and   renew   their   injured 
tissues  with  fresh  growths.     They  tell  you  that 
Nature  brings  forth  at  hazard,  producing  pell- 
mell  and  indifferently  the  good  and  the   bad, 
annulling  the  good  by  this  disorder.     But  I  tell 
you  that  not  a  blade  of  grass  has  been  made  at 
hazard,  and  that  the  least  mite  testifies  to  the 
existence  of  a  sovereign  intelligence  and  good- 
ness.    I  assure  you  also  that  this  goodness  has 
only  had  one  pre-occupation — yourself;  but  one 
aim — your    happiness.     God    made   nature   for 
man,  and  man  for  Himself.     Man  is  the   end 
and  aim  of  everything  upon  the  earth,  and  the 
proofs  of  this  are  infinite  in  number. 

A  great  part  of  the  Etudes  is  taken  up  with 
the  gathering  together  of  these  proofs.  I  do 
not  believe  that  there  exists  another  so  intrepid 


The  "Etudes  de  la  Nature?        99 

a  partisan  of  final  causes.  Nothing  turns  him 
from  his  demonstration,  not  facts,  nor  absurdities, 
nor  ridicule.  Things  are  so  because  it  is  neces- 
sary to  the  happiness  of  man  that  they  should 
be  so  :  nothing  turns  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre 
from  that  opinion.  I  do  not  say  that  he  scoffed 
at  science ;  he  looked  upon  himself  as  a  scienti- 
fic spirit  who  was  to  set  his  predecessors  right, 
including  Descartes  and  Newton  ;  I  only  say 
that  he  speaks  about  it  rather  as  though  he 
were  laughing  at  it. 

Our  earth,  then,  has  been  solidified,  modelled 
and  carved  out  by  God  for  our  needs  and  our 
comfort.      There    is    not   a    mountain    whose 
height,  breadth,  and  site  have  not  been  calculated 
by  Divine  wisdom  for  our  advantage.     One  is 
intended  to  refresh  us  with  its  ice,  another  to 
protect   us   from   the    north   wind,    a   third    to 
produce  a  healthful  current  of  air ;  this  last  we 
call  eolian.     Those  islands  of  rock  strewn  along 
the  seashore,    and   vulgarly  called  sand-banks, 
are   fortifications   placed    there   by  Providence, 
without  which  our  coasts  would  be  demolished 
by  the   ocean.     Those   which   one   remarks   at 
the  mouths  of  water-courses  "  form  channels  for 
the   rivers,   each    channel    taking    a    different 
direction,  so  that  if  one  becomes   stopped  up 
by  the  winds  or  the  currents  from  the  sea,  the 
water   can  escape   by  another."     It  speaks  for 


ioo         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

itself  that  God  does  not  have  to  try  a  thing  over 
and  over  again  before  it  is  perfect.  Creation 
was  perfect  from  the  first  day,  and  Bernardin 
de  Saint-Pierre  suppresses  the  slow  evolutions, 
due  to  the  action  of  the  forces  of  nature,  which 
according  to  some  incessantly  alter  the  surface 
of  the  earth.  That  surface  is  unchangeable. 
There  is  no  example  that  the  sea  ever  "hollowed 
out  a  bay,  or  detached  anything  from  the  conti- 
nent ; "  that  the  "  rivers  formed  at  their  entrance 
into  the  sea  sand-banks  and  promontories ; " 
that  ancient  ports  had  been  effaced,  islands 
destroyed,  or  mountains  denuded  and  levelled 
to  the  ground.  In  truth,  the  works  of  God,  like 
those  of  man,  are  subject  to  wear,  and  need 
reparation ;  but  the  Divine  Architect  is  never 
idle,  and  works  without  ceasing  to  maintain 
them,  which  amounts  to  the  same  thing. 

The  means  which  He  employs  for  reparation 
often  escape  our  notice  from  their  very  simplicity. 
What  pedestrian  has  not  execrated  the  clouds 
of  sand  or  dust  which  the  wind  raises  on  the 
strand  or  on  barren  plains.  He  would  have 
been  rather  astonished  if  he  had  known  that 
he  was  witnessing  the  dispersal  of  materials 
designed  by  Providence  to  replace  the  soil  in 
the  mountains,  which  had  been  worn  away  by 
water.  Sand  and  dust  are  transported  to  the 
tops  of  the  peaks  upon  the  wings  of  storms, 


The  "  Etudes  de  la  Nature."      101 

thanks  to  the  "  fossil  attractions  "  of  the 
mountains. 

It  was  six  years  after  Buffon's  £poques  de  la 
Nature  had  appeared,  that  Bernardin  de  Saint- 
Pierre  offered  to  the  public  this  astonishing 
system  of  the  Universe.  It  needed  a  certain 
amount  of  courage  to  be  so  deliberately  behind- 
hand. 

The  theory  of  final  causes  thus  carried  to 
extremes  occasioned  a  good  deal  of  embarrass- 
ment to  the  Deist.  It  is  no  slight  matter  to 
undertake  to  explain,  to  the  advantage  of 
Providence,  everything  that  there  is  upon  the 
earth  without  any  exception ;  so  many  things 
appear  useless,  so  many  hurtful.  Saint-Pierre 
never  despaired  of  finding  justification  for  every 
one  of  them,  with  human  happiness  as  its  basis. 
He  went  on  bravely  without  disturbing  himself 
that  the  laugh  was  at  his  expense,  and  with  an 
ardour  of  conviction  which  convinced  many  of 
the  men  and  almost  all  the  women  who  read 
him.  The  spirit  of  that  day  was  not  very 
scientific. 

Of  what  use  are  volcanoes  ?  Hardly  any  one 
has  failed  to  perceive  that  rivers  are,  so  to  speak, 
the  drains  of  the  continent  The  oils,  the  resin, 
and  the  nitre  of  vegetables  and  animals  "  are  car- 
ried by  the  water-courses  to  the  sea,  where  all 
their  component  parts  become  dissolved, covering 


IO2         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

the  surface  with  fatty  matter,  which  does  not 
evaporate  because  it  resists  the  action  of  the  air. 
Without    the    intervention    of  Providence   the 
entire  ocean  since   the  existence  of  the  world 
would  be  defiled  with  these  tainted   oils  ;  but 
Providence  made   volcanoes,  and    the    waters 
were   purified.      In    fact,    volcanoes    "  do   not 
proceed  from   heat  inside  the  earth,  but  they 
owe  their  origin  to  the  waters,  and  the  matter 
contained  in  them.     One  can  convince  one's  self 
of  this  fact  by  remarking  that  there  is  not  a 
single   volcano  in  the   interior   of  a  continent, 
unless  it  is  in  the  neighbourhood  of  some  great 
lake  like  that  of  Mexico."     Nature,  obeying  a 
Divine  impulse,  has  "  lighted  these  vast  furnaces 
on  the  shores  of  the  ocean,"  so  that  the  oils  of 
which  we  have  spoken,  being  attracted  towards 
them  by  a  phenomenon  which  the  author  does 
not  explain,  are  burnt  up  as  the  weeds  in  a  gar- 
den are  burnt  in  the  autumn  by  a  careful  gardener. 
One  does  in  truth  find  lava  in  the  interior  of  a 
country,  but  a  proof  that  it  owes  its  origin  to 
water  is  that  the  volcanoes  which  have  produced 
it  have  become  extinct,  when  the  waters  have 
failed.     Those  volcanoes  were  lighted  there  like 
those  of  our  day,  by  the  animal  and  vegetable 
fermentations  with  which  the  earth  was  covered 
after  the  Deluge,  when  the  remains  of  so  many 
forests  and  so  many  animals,  whose  trunks  and 


The  "  £tudes  de  la  Nature"      103 

bones  are  still  found  in  our  quarries,  floated  on 
the  surface  of  the  ocean,  forming  huge  deposits, 
which  the  currents  accumulated  in  the  cavities 
of  the  mountains,  so  that  the  ancient  craters  of 
the  Auvergne  mountains  prove  that  all  volcanoes 
are  found  beside  the  sea.  Inundations  afford  us 
the  pleasures  of  boating  and  fishing.  That  is 
the  reason  that  the  nations  which  inhabit  the 
shores  of  the  Amazon  and  the  Orinico,  and 
many  other  rivers  which  overflow  their  banks, 
looked  upon  these  inundations  as  blessings 
from  heaven  before  the  arrival  of  Europeans, 
who  upset  their  ideas  :  "  Was  it,  then,  so  dis- 
pleasing a  spectacle  for  them  to  see  their 
immense  forests  intersected  by  long  water- 
roads,  which  they  could  navigate  without 
trouble  of  any  sort  in  their  canoes,  and  of 
which  they  could  gather  in  the  produce  with  the 
greatest  ease  ?  Some  colonies  like  those  on  the 
Orinico,  convinced  of  these  advantages,  had 
adopted  the  strange  habit  of  living  in  the  tops 
of  trees,  like  the  birds,  seeking  board,  lodging 
and  shelter  under  their  foliage.  In  spite  of  the 
epithet  strange,  one  feels  that  he  regretted  these 
picturesque  manners,  and  that  it  would  not  have 
displeased  him  at  all  to  see  the  dwellers  on  the 
banks  of  the  Loire,  nesting  with  the  magpies 
and  jays  in  their  own  poplars." 

Beasts  of  prey  rid  the  earth  of  dead  bodies, 


IO4         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

which  without  them  would  not  fail  to  infect  the 
air.  Every  year  there  dies  a  natural  death  at 
least  the  twentieth  part  of  the  quadrupeds,  the 
tenth  part  of  the  birds,  and  an  infinite  number 
of  insects,  of  which  most  of  the  species  only  live 
a  year.  There  are  some  insects  even  who  only 
live  a  few  hours,  such  as  the  ephemera.  This 
enormous  destruction  would  soon  poison  the  air 
and  the  water  without  the  aid  of  the  innumerable 
army  of  grave-diggers  created  and  maintained 
by  Nature  to  keep  the  surface  of  the  globe  clean. 
Saint- Pierre  draws  a  description  of  it  which  is 
worderful  for  its  colour  and  spirit :  "  It  is  above 
all  in  hot  countries,  where  the  effects  of  de- 
composition are  most  rapid  and  most  dangerous, 
that  Nature  has  multiplied  carnivorous  animals. 
Tribes  of  lions,  tigers,  leopards,  panthers,  civet- 
cats,  lynxes,  jackals,  hyenas,  condors,  &c.,  there 
come  to  reinforce  the  wolves,  foxes,  martens, 
otters,  vultures,  ravens,  &c.  Legions  of  voracious 
crabs  make  their  homes  in  the  sand  there  ; 
alligators  and  crocodiles  lie  in  ambush  amongst 
their  reeds,  an  innumerable  species  of  shell-fish, 
armed  with  implements  to  enable  them  to  suck, 
to  bore,  to  file,  to  crush,  bristle  on  the  rocks  and 
pave  their  sea-shores.  Clouds  of  sea-birds  fly 
screaming  along  the  rocks,  or  sail  round  them 
on  the  tops  of  the  waves  seeking  their  prey ; 
eels,  garfish,  shad,  and  every  species  of  carti- 


The  "Etudes  de  la  Nature"     105 

aginous  fish  which  only  lives  upon  flesh,  such 
as  long  sharks,  big  skate,  hammer-fish,  octopuses 
armed  with  suckers,  and  every  variety  of  dog-fish, 
swim  about  in  shoals,  occupied  all  the  time  in 
devouring  the  remains  of  the  dead  bodies  which 
collect  there.  Nature  also  musters  insects  to 
hasten  on  the  destruction.  Wasps  armed  with 
shears  cut  the  flesh,  flies  pump  out  the  fluids, 
marine  worms  separate  the  bones  .  .  .  What 
remains  of  all  these  bodies,  after  having  served 
as  food  to  numberless  shoals  of  other  kinds  of 
fish,  some  with  snouts  formed  like  a  spoon, 
others  like  a  pipe,  so  that  they  can  pick  up 
every  crumb  from  the  vast  table,  at  last  con- 
verted by  so  many  digestions  into  oils  and 
fats  and  added  to  the  vegetable  pulps  which 
descends  from  all  parts  into  the  ocean,  would 
reproduce  a  new  chaos  of  putrefaction  in  its 
waters,  if  the  currents  did  not  carry  it  to  the 
volcanoes,  the  fires  of  which  succeed  in  decom- 
posing it  and  giving  it  back  to  the  elements.  It 
is  for  this  reason,  as  we  have  already  indicated, 
that  volcanoes  .  .  .  are  all  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  the  sea  or  big  lakes." 

How  happy  are  the  poets !  for  they  can  talk 
nonsense  with  impunity.  With  all  his  extra- 
vagant ideas,  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  has 
brought  home  to  us  like  no  one  else,  the 
sensation  of  the  activity  of  Nature,  and  of  the 


106         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

swarming   life  which   covers  the   earth,  moves 
inside  it,  and  fills  the  air  and  the  sea. 

He  had  quite  foreseen  that  people  would 
oppose  to  all  this  the  sufferings  inflicted  by 
beasts  of  prey,  large  and  small,  upon  living 
animals,  men  even,  but  this  objection  did  not 
embarrass  him  in  the  least.  As  far  as  animals 
are  concerned,  it  would  disappear  of  itself  only 
by  taking  a  broader  view  of  things.  "  It  is 
true,"  he  said,  "  several  species  of  carnivorous 
beasts  devour  living  animals.  .  .  .  Let  us  return 
to  the  great  principle  of  Nature :  she  has  made 
nothing  in  vain.  She  destines  few  animals  to 
die  of  old  age,  and  I  believe  even  that  it  is  only 
man  whom  she  permits  to  run  through  the 
entire  course  of  life,  because  it  is  only  man 
whose  old  age  can  be  useful  to  his  fellows. 
Among  animals  what  would  be  the  use  of 
unreflecting  old  age  to  their  posterity,  which  is 
born  with  the  instinct  which  takes  the  place  of 
experience?  On  the  other  hand,  how  would 
the  decrepid  parents  find  sustenance  among 
their  children  who  leave  them  the  moment 
they  know  how  to  swim,  fly,  or  walk  ?  Old 
age  would  be  for  them  a  weight  from  which  the 
wild  beasts  deliver  them."  Let  us  add  that  to 
them  death  means  little  suffering.  They  are 
generally  destroyed  in  the  night  during  their 
sleep.  "They  do  not  attach  to  this  fatal 


The  "Etudes  de  la  Nature."      107 

moment  any  of  the  feelings  which  render  it  so 
bitter  to  the  greater  part  of  humanity — the 
regrets  for  the  past  and  anxieties  for  the  future. 
In  the  midst  of  a  life  of  innocence,  often  with 
their  dreams  of  love  still  fresh,  their  untroubled 
spirits  wing  their  fiight  into  the  shades  of  night. 
It  is  very  prettily  phrased,  but  unhappily  no 
one  has  ever  succeeded,  often  as  it  has  been 
tried,  in  convincing  those  who  are  eaten  that  it 
is  for  their  good." 

The  objection  relative  to  man  is  dismissed 
with  the  same  ease.  "  Man  has  nothing  to  fear 
from  beasts  of  prey.  Firstly,  most  of  them  only 
go  abroad  in  the  night,  and  they  possess  striking 
characteristics  which  announce  their  approach 
even  before  they  become  visible.  Some  of  them 
have  strong  odours  of  musk  like  the  marten,  the 
civet  cat,  and  the  crocodile  ;  others  shrill  voices 
which  can  be  heard  for  long  distances  in  the 
night  like  the  wolves  and  jackals  ;  again,  others 
have  strongly-marked  colours  which  can  be 
distinguished  a  long  way  off  upon  the  neutral 
tint  of  their  skins  :  such  are  the  dark  stripes  of 
the  tiger  and  the  distinct  spots  of  the  leopard. 
They  all  have  eyes  which  shine  in  the  darkness. 
.  .  .  Even  those  which  attack  the  human  body 
have  distinguishing  signs;  either  they  have  a 
strong  odour  like  the  bug,  or  contrasts  in  colour 
to  the  parts  to  which  they  attach  themselves, 


io8        Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

like  white  insects  on  the  hair,  or  the  blackness 
of  fleas  against  the  whiteness  of  the  skin."  How 
about  fleas  upon  the  negro? 

The  flea's  usefulness  does  not  stop  with  its 
blackness.  It  is  also  useful  from  the  point  of  view 
of  political  economy,  by  obliging  "  the  rich  to 
employ  those  who  are  destitute,  in  the  capacity 
of  domestics,  to  keep  things  clean  about  them." 
Furthermore  hail,  with  the  help  of  its  ally,  the 
hurricane,  destroys  a  great  many  insects  ;  earth- 
quakes are  no  less  necessary  and  useful,  their 
function  being  to  purify  the  atmosphere.  Hail, 
tempests,  earthquakes,  are  in  reality  so  many 
benefactors,  unrecognised  because  we  are  not 
penetrated  to  the  marrow  of  our  bones  with 
these  fundamental  truths :  the  happiness  of 
man  is  the  first  law  of  the  world  ;  "  nothing 
superfluous  exists,  only  such  things  as  are  useful 
relatively  to  man." 

Here  are  some  more  proofs  which  Bernardin 
de  Saint-Pierre  considers  striking.  Nature 
invented  the  hideous  scorpion  to  be  a  salutary 
terror  to  us,  to  keep  us  away  from  damp, 
unhealthy  places,  its  ordinary  abode.  She  has 
given  four  teats  to  the  cow,  which  only  brings 
forth  one  calf  at  a  time,  and  a  dozen  to  the  sow, 
which  has  to  bring  up  as  many  as  fifteen  young 
ones,  and  this  because  mankind  liking  milk  and 
pork,  the  cow  had  to  be  made  to  give  us  of 


The  "  E tildes  de  la  Nature"      109 

"  the  superabundance  of  her  milk,  and  the  sow 
of  that  of  her  young." 

What  shall  be  said  of  the  "  royal  foresight " 
of  the  Divinity  when  it  wishes  to  act  upon  our 
hearts  and  prepare  them  to  learn  patience,  or 
open  them  to  gentle  feelings  ?  Every  one  of 
us  has  mourned  a  dog,  and  has  asked  himself 
why  these  faithful  animals  have  so  short  a  life. 
Listen  to  the  answer.  "If  the  death  of  the  dog 
of  the  house  reduces  our  children,  whose  com- 
panion and  contemporary  he  has  been,  to 
despair,  doubtless  Nature  wished  to  give  them, 
through  the  loss  of  an  animal  so  worthy  of 
human  affection,  their  first  experience  of  the 
privations  of  which  human  life  is  full."  The 
example  of  the  melon  and  the  pumpkin  is  still 
more  characteristic.  While  most  fruits  are 
cultivated  for  the  mouth  of  man,  like  cherries 
and  plums,  or  for  his  hand  like  pears  and  apples, 
the  melon  much  larger  and  divided  into  quarters, 
"  seems  intended  to  be  eaten  by  the  family."  As 
for  the  enormous  pumpkin,  Nature  intends  that 
one  should  share  it  with  one's  neighbours  ;  it  is 
pre-eminently  a  sociable  fruit. 

In  spite  of  all  these  benefits,  we  hear  our 
impious  race  accusing  Nature,  and  blaspheming 
Providence.  We  are  angry  against  Heaven 
when  we  suffer,  when  this  or  that  fails  us,  as 
though  Providence  could  be  at  fault,  and  as 


no         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

though  we  were  not  ourselves  the  real  authors  of 
our  woes.     A  little  faith,  a  little  confidence,  and 
we  should  be  comforted,  but  we  do  not  possess 
it,  and  we  rush  to  our  ruin  through  ignorance 
and  unbelief,  just   as  it   happened  one  day  to 
some  men  who  had  landed  upon  a  desert  island 
where  there  were  no  cocoa-nut  trees.     Soon  the 
sea   "threw  upon  the  strand  several  sprouting 
cocoa-nuts,  as  if  Providence  were  eager  to  per- 
suade them  by  this  useful  and  agreeable  present 
to  remain   upon   the   island   and   cultivate   it" 
Notice  that  this  was  not  brought  about  by  any 
chance  currents,  because  sea-currents  are  regular, 
and  those  which  surrounded  this  island  had  had 
time  since  the  creation  of  the  world  to  sow  it 
with  all  sorts  of  seeds.      '*  However  that  may 
be,  the  emigrants  planted  the  cocoa-nuts,  and  in 
the  course  of  a  year  and  a  half  they  sent  up 
shoots  four  feet  in  height.     So  marked  a  favour 
from  Heaven  was,  nevertheless,  not  sufficient  to 
keep  them  in  this  happy  spot :  a  thoughtless 
desire  to  procure  for  themselves  wives,  induced 
them  to  leave  it,  and  plunged  them  in  a  long 
series  of  misfortunes,  which  most  of  them  could 
not  survive.     For  my  part,  I  do  not  doubt  that  if 
they  had  had  that  confidence  in  Providence  which 
they  owed  to  her,  she  would  have  sent  wives  to 
them  in  their  desert  island,  as  she  had  sent  them 
cocoa-nuts? 


The  "  Etudes  de  la  Nature"      1 1 1 

Providence  also  takes  touching  care  of  the 
animals.  The  thorns  of  the  brambles  and 
bushes  protect  the  little  birds  in  their  nests,  and 
collect  the  sheep's  wool  to  line  the  nests  with. 
Ermines  have  the  tips  of  their  tails  black,  "  so 
that  these  small  animals,  entirely  white,  when 
going  after  one  another  in  the  snow,  where  they 
leave  hardly  any  footmarks,  may  recognise  one 
another  in  the  luminous  reflections  of  the  long 
nights  of  the  North."  Hairy  animals  are  gene- 
rally white  underneath  because  white  keeps  them 
warmer  than  any  other  colour,  and  because  "the 
stomach  needs  most  heat  on  account  of  the  di- 
gestive and  other  functions  ;  on  the  other  hand, 
the  head  is  always  the  deepest  in  colour,  above  all 
in  hot  countries,  because  that  part  has  most  need 
of  coolness  in  the  animal  economy."  It  is  also 
for  the  last  reason  that  several  of  the  birds  in  hot 
regions  have  tufts  and  crests  on  their  heads,  to 
shade  them.  Lastly,  all  animals  without  excep- 
tion find  their  table  set  for  them  ever  since  the 
world  began,  even  those  who  only  feed  upon  car- 
rion. "  Ancient  trees  grow  in  the  depths  of  new 
forests  to  afford  sustenance  to  the  insects  and 
birds  who  find  it  in  their  aged  trunks.  Corpses 
were  created  for  the  carnivorous  animals.  In  every 
age  there  must  come  forth  creatures  young,  old, 
living  and  dying."  There  is  always  an  essential 
difference  in  the  methods  of  Providence  towards 


ii2         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

animals  and  towards  man.  God  takes  care  of  us 
for  our  own  sakes,  He  only  takes  care  of  animals 
or  plants  as  they  affect  us,  and  in  such  measure 
as  they  are  useful  or  agreeable  to  us.  Bernardin 
de  Saint-Pierre  was  never  tired  of  making 
remarks  in  support  of  these  diverse  opinions, 
and  we  could  multiply  quotations  indefinitely, 
but  what  has  already  been  said  gives  an  adequate 
idea  of  his  theory  of  the  universe. 

At  first  sight  we  are  inclined  to  shrug  our 
shoulders  and  pity  the  final  causes  for  having 
found  an  advocate  capable  of  such  sad  non- 
sense; but  on  reflection  we  are  obliged  to  admit 
that  once  the  principle  is  conceded,  there  is  no 
means  of  stopping  one's  self  in  the  downward 
course.  Why  admit  this  final  cause  and  reject 
that  one  ?  If  the  world  is  arranged  for  the 
happiness  of  man,  ought  we  not  to  explain 
the  utility  of  moths  and  weevils  after  that  of 
wool  and  corn?  And  if  we  see  in  it,  as  Saint- 
Pierre  did,  a  means  of  compelling  the  monopolists 
to  sell  their  merchandise  for  fear  that  the  poor 
would  have  to  go  naked  or  die  of  hunger,  have 
we  not  the  right  to  maintain  that  one  argument 
is  worth  another,  and  that  it  would  be  difficult 
for  you  to  find  a  better?  On  the  whole,  Ber- 
nardin only  developed  Pension's  idea,  who  also 
subordinated  the  creation  to  man,  and  was  led 
by  that,  in  spite  of  all  his  cleverness,  to  affirm 


The  "Etudes  de  la  Nature"      113 

that  the  stars  were  made  to  give  us  light ;  that 
the  dog  is  born  "  to  give  us  a  pleasant  picture 
of  society,  friendship,  fidelity,  and  tender 
affection  ; "  that  wild  beasts  are  intended  "  to 
exercise  the  courage,  strength,  and  skill  of  man- 
kind." Between  F^nelon  and  Saint-Pierre,  as 
between  all  determined  partisans  of  final  causes, 
it  is  only  a  question  of  more  or  less  ingenuity, 
and  Saint-Pierre  was  very  ingenious.  Grimm 
wrote,  "  I  do  not  believe  that  any  man  had  as 
yet  ventured  to  recognise  Providence,  or  to 
attribute  to  it  more  skilful  attention,  more  refined 
research,  more  delicacy  of  feeling;  but  his  idea 
is  carried  beyond  all  bounds,  and  leads  him 
occasionally  into  all  kinds  of  nonsense  and 
absurd  puerilities.  His  book  is  one  long  col- 
lection of  eclogues,  hymns,  and  madrigals  in 
honour  of  Providence."  T  The  Etudes  de  la 
Nature  makes  us  still  better  able  to  understand 
the  warmth  with  which  Buffon  repudiated  the 
theory  of  final  causes. 

Bernardin   de  Saint-Pierre  would  have  been 
immensely  astonished  if  he  had  been  told  that 
he  was  labouring  to  prepare  generations  of  pessi- 
mists by  attributing  to  Providence  the  cares  and 
solicitude  of  a  nurse  in  its  relations  with  men. 
Nothing  was  further  from  his  thoughts,  and  yet 
nothing  is  more  certain  from  the  moment  that 
1  Literary  Correspondence,  April,  1785. 
9 


114         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

his  works  became  a  success  with  the  public,  and 
exerted  an  influence  over  men's  minds.  Man 
once  convinced  that  his  happiness  is  the  concern 
of  God,  considers  it  the  duty  of  the  Divinity  to 
secure  it.  In  misfortune  he  has  no  patience  to 
bear  his  troubles,  because  he  looks  upon  himself 
as  injured  by  Providence.  The  horror  of  the 
injustice  done  to  him  redoubles  his  suffering, 
and  he  curses  the  Heaven  which  does  not 
respect  his  rights.  It  would  be  doing  too  much 
honour  to  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  if  we  were 
to  make  him  answerable  for  the  gloomy  and 
bitter  turn  of  mind  of  our  contemporaries,  but  he 
certainly  helped  it  on,  since  for  a  thoughtful 
mind  his  philosophy  has  a  fatal  tendency  to 
demonstrate  the  fallibility  of  Providence. 

He  perceived  the  difficulty  quite  well,  and 
felt  that  it  is  not  sufficient  to  keep  repeating 
over  and  over  again  the  axiom  :  "  All  is  for  the 
best  in  the  best  of  worlds.''  When  one  has 
finished  repeating  it,  the  evil  is  not  ended  nor 
explained.  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  was  only 
too  glad  to  fall  back  upon  his  own  century,  on 
which  he  had  turned  his  back  during  his 
religious  exaltation,  and  to  explain  by  reasons 
taken  from  Diderot  and  Jean-Jacques  the 
sufferings  of  humanity  in  a  world  created 
perfect.  So  he  wrote :  "Man  is  born  good;  it 
is  society  that  makes  bad  people,  and  your 


The  "  Etudes  de  la  Nature."      115 

education  which  prepares  them."  Man  is  born 
good  ;  take  the  savages,  who  alone  upon  the 
earth  still  possess  •"  real  virtue."  A  good  man 
continues  happy  so  long  as  he  does  not  turn 
aside  from  "the  law  of  nature."  Take  the 
savages  again — their  happiness  is  perfect,  accord- 
ing to  the  missionaries,  so  long  as  they  have 
no  intercourse  with  civilised  nations.  Society 
"  makes  bad  people "  by  its  stupid  and  brutal 
laws,  which  ignore  and  defy  those  of  nature  and 
precipitate  us  into  abysses  of  evil.  Our  educa- 
tion prepares  our  young  people  to  be  in  their 
turn  wicked,  because  it  is  founded  upon  the  false 
idea  with  which  our  whole  civilisation  is  im- 
pregnated :  it  develops  the  intelligence  instead 
of  developing  the  heart.  Nature  "  does  not  wish 
man  to  be  skilful  and  vainglorious;  she  wishes  him 
to  be  happy  and  good."  We  are  going  against 
her  intentions  when  we  undertake  to  invent 
scientific  systems  which  "  deprave  the  heart," 
instead  of  cultivating  sweet  and  tender  senti- 
ments amongst  our  children.  In  doing  so  we 
commit  a  criminal  error  every  day  of  our  lives, 
the  fatal  consequences  of  which  are  quite 
apparent.  Consider  what  man  has  become 
under  the  influence  of  this  civilisation  of  which 
we  are  so  proud. 

"  Nature,  which  intended  him  to  be  loving,  did 
not   furnish  him  with  arms,  and  so  he  forged 


n6         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

them  himself  to  fight  his  fellows  with.  She 
provides  food  and  shelter  for  all  her  children  ; 
and  the  roads  leading  to  our  towns  are  only 
distinguishable  from  afar  by  their  gibbets!  The 
history  of  nature  presents  only  benefits,  that  of 
man  nothing  but  wrath  and  rapine."  And 
further  on  :  "  There  are  many  lands  which  have 
never  been  cultivated  ;  but  there  are  none  known 
to  Europeans  which  have  not  been  stained  with 
human  blood.  Even  the  lonely  wastes  of  the 
sea  swallow  up  in  their  depths  shiploads  of  men 
sent  to  the  bottom  by  their  fellows.  In  the 
towns,  flourishing  as  they  seem  with  their  arts 
and  monuments,  pride  and  cunning,  superstition 
and  impiety,  violence  and  treachery  wage  their 
eternal  strife  and  fill  with  trouble  the  lot  of  the 
unfortunate  inhabitants.  The  more  civilised  the 
society  there,  the  more  cruel  are  its  evils  and  tJie 
more  they  increase  in  number." 

Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  had  his  Rousseau 
beside  him,  when  he  thus  launched  his  anathemas 
against  civilisation  and  the  sciences.  He  occa- 
sionally makes  use  of  expressions  which  closely 
recall  the  Discours  sur  les  lettres,  les  sciences  et  les 
arts,  and  the  Discours  sur  V megalith  parmi  les 
hommes.  Unhappily  for  his  thesis,  his  eloquent 
rage  against  our  social  state  rings  false.  We 
feel  that  it  is  a  rhetorical  artifice  to  help  him  out 
of  the  difficulty  of  his  theory  of  final  causes,  and 


The  "  Etudes  de  la  Natiire"      117 

to  open  out  a  way  for  him  to  bring  at  last  his 
character  of  legislator  before  the  public.  The 
occasion  was  unique  for  showing  to  France  what 
she  had  lost  through  the  incapacity  of  her 
ministers,  who  allowed  the  memorials  of  M.  de 
Saint-Pierre  to  moulder  in  their  portfolios. 
We  thus  return  to  Robinson  Crusoe,  the  ideal 
colony,  and  those  famous  laws  of  nature  which 
it  is  our  mission  to  contrast  with  the  laws  made 
by  man. 

The  laws  of  nature  are  "  moral "  and  "  senti- 
mental "  laws ;  they  comprise  in  the  first  place 
all  the  good  and  noble  sentiments  which  God 
has  placed  in  our  hearts.  Just  as  reason  is  a 
miserable  and  inferior  faculty,  so  sentiment  is 
the  glory  and  strength  of  mankind ;  man  owes 
to  it  everything  great  and  splendid  which  he 
has  ever  accomplished.  "  Reason  has  pro- 
duced many  men  of  mind  in  the  so-called 
civilised  ages,  and  sentiment  men  of  genius  in 
the  so-called  barbarous  ages.  Reason  varies 
from  age  to  age,  sentiment  is  always  the  same. 
Errors  of  reason  are  local  and  transitory,  the 
truths  of  sentiment  are  unchanging  and  universal. 
By  reason  the  ego  is  made  Greek,  English, 
Turkish  ;  by  sentiment  it  becomes  human,  divine. 
...  In  truth,  reason  gives  us  some  pleasures ; 
but  if  it  reveals  some  portion  of  the  order  of  the 
universe,  it  shows  us  at  the  same  time  our  own 


1 1 8         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

destruction,  which  is  involved  in  the  laws  of  its 
preservation.  It  shows  us  at  once  past  ills  and 
those  that  are  to  come.  .  .  .  The  wider  it  ex- 
plores it  brings  back  to  us  the  evidence  of  our 
nothingness  ;  and  far  from  calming  our  anxieties 
by  its  researches,  it  often  only  increases  them  by 
its  knowledge.  On  the  contrary  sentiment,  blind 
in  its  desires,  surveys  the  relics  of  all  countries 
and  all  times ;  it  trusts  in  the  midst  of  ruins,  of 
battles,  even  of  death,  in  some  vague,  eternal 
existence ;  in  all  its  yearnings  it  strives  after  the 
attributes  of  the  Divinity — infinity,  scope,  dura- 
tion, power,  greatness,  and  glory  ;  it  adds  ardent 
desire  to  all  our  passions,  gives  to  them  a  sub- 
lime impulse,  and  in  subjugating  our  reason, 
becomes  itself  the  noblest  and  best  instinct 
of  human  life."  We  must  correct  Descartes  and 
say  :  "  I  feel,  therefore  I  exist." 

The  apotheosis  of  sentiment,  "  blind  in  its 
desires  "  and  indomitable  in  their  pursuit,  which 
"  subjugates  our  reason "  and  makes  us  act  on 
impulse,  strongly  resembles  an  apotheosis  of 
passion,  and  in  fact  has  led  to  it  So  George 
Sand  strikes  some  roots  in  the  insipid  sensibility 
of  the  last  century,  but  we  know  already  that  it 
was  not  within  the  scope  of  Bernardin  de  Saint- 
Pierre  to  calculate  the  not  very  remote  con- 
sequences of  his  principles.  He  dreamt,  without 
the  very  least  anxiety,  of  a  world  entirely 


The  "Etudes  de  la  Nature"      119 

governed  by  sentiment,  and  emancipated  from 
that  abominable  reason.  No  danger  could 
threaten  this  regenerated  community,  because 
its  leader  had  sorted  out  the  sentiments  common 
to  humanity,  and  only  allowed  such  of  them  to 
prevail  as  pity,  innocence,  admiration,  melan- 
choly, and  love.  This  choice  promised  to  the 
world  a  succession  of  Idylls.  As  for  the  bad 
sentiments,  hate,  avarice,  jealousy,  ambition, 
there  was  no  need  to  take  them  into  considera- 
tion or  to  fear  their  usurpation ;  they  would 
disappear  from  the  face  of  France  so  soon  as 
the  plan  of  education  placed  at  the  end  of  the 
fctudes  de  la  Nature  had  been  adopted. 

There  is  nothing  like  coming  at  the  right 
time.  At  the  beginning  of  the  Revolution  these 
sorts  of  things  were  listened  to  with  a  contrite 
spirit,  and  no  one  thought  of  laughing  at  them. 
Such  sentiments  appeared  as  wise  as  they  were 
beautiful ;  no  one  doubted  his  own  virtue  and 
goodness,  and  all  rejoiced  in  this  picture  of  the 
delightful  emotions  which  awaited  the  new 
society.  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  laboured  to 
draw  seductive  pictures  of  it,  and  his  efforts  have 
procured  us  some  analyses  of  public  feeling 
which  their  date  render  most  interesting. 

His  chapter  on  Melancholy  is  one  of  the 
most  interesting.  Melancholy  had  only  lately 
come  into  fashion,  and  he  exerted  himself  to 


I2O         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

inquire  into  the  source  of  this  seductive  senti- 
ment, the  sweetest  and  most  cherished  poison  of 
the  soul.  He  to  some  extent  recognised  the 
danger  of  it,  for  the  word  voluptuous  occurs 
several  times  under  his  pen  :  "  I  do  not  know," 
he  wrote,  "  to  what  physical  law  the  philosopher 
may  attribute  the  sensations  of  melancholy. 
For  my  part  I  think  that  they  are  the  most 
voluptuous  impressions  of  the  soul."  That  is 
very  finely  expressed  and  very  true.  Further 
on,  apropos  of  people  who  try  by  artificial  means 
to  give  themselves  sensations  of  melancholy,  he 
writes  :  "  Our  voluptuaries  have  artificial  ruins 
erected  in  their  gardens.  .  .  .  The  tomb  has  sup- 
plied to  the  poetry  of  Young  and  Gessner  pictures 
full  of  charm ;  therefore  our  voluptuaries  have 
imitation  tombs  put  up  in  their  gardens."  He  is 
himself  "  a  voluptuary "  when  he  solaces  his 
woes,  by  abandoning  himself  to  the  melancholy 
which  bad  weather  creates  in  him.  "  It  seems  to 
me  at  such  times  that  nature  conforms  to  my 
situation  like  a  tender  friend.  She  is,  besides, 
always  so  interesting  under  whatever  aspect  she 
reveals  herself,  that  when  it  rains  I  seem  to 
see  a  beautiful  woman  in  tears,  all  the  more 
beautiful  the  more  she  is  distressed.  In  order  to 
experience  these  sentiments,  which  I  dare  to  call 
voluptuous,  we  must  have  no  plans  for  going 
out,  or  paying  visits,  or  hunting,  or  travelling, 


The  "  Etudes  de  la  Nature."      121 

which  always  put  us  into  a  bad  temper,  because 
we  are  thwarted  ;  ...  to  enjoy  bad  weather  it  is 
necessary  that  our  soul  should  travel,  our  body 
stay  quiet" 

We  have  in  these  lines  a  great  science  of 
melancholy,  given  to  us  by  a  refined  "  voluptu- 
ary "  who  understands  how  to  give  to  agreeable 
sensations  their  maximum  of  enjoyment.  One 
is  quite  taken  in  to  find  directly  after  a  series  of 
pretentious  articles  in  the  manner  of  the  day,  in 
which  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  explains  the 
pleasure  of  the  grave  by  the  sentiment  of  the 
immortality  of  the  soul,  and  the  pleasure  of  decay 
by  that  of  the  infinity  of  time.  I  notice  in  it, 
however,  an  effort  to  interest  the  reader  in  the 
real  and  native  gothic  ruins,  which  might  be 
called  daring,  at  that  time  of  mania  for  filling 
one's  garden  with  Greek  and  Roman  erections  • 
imitation  temples,  imitation  tombs,  imitation 
columns,  and  imitation  ruins,  ornamented  with 
allegorical  emblems  and  sentimental  inscriptions. 
Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  did  not  oppose  this 
classical  bric-a-brac  which  pleased  him  only  too 
well,  but  he  possessed  to  a  greater  extent  than 
his  contemporaries  the  sense  of  the  picturesque, 
which  bore  fruit  in  some  romantic  scenes  like 
the  description  of  the  Chateau  of  Lillebonne. 

The  chateau  is  perched  on  a  height  com- 
manding a  valley.  "The  high  walls  which 


122         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 
/^ 

surround  it  are  rounded  off  at  the  corners,  and 
so  covered  with  ivy  that  there  are  but  few  points 
from  which  one  can  mark  their  course.  About 
the  middle  of  their  length,  where  I  should  think 
it  would  not  be  easy  to  penetrate,  rise  high  battle- 
mented  towers,  upon  the  tops  of  which  grow  big 
trees,  having  the  appearance  of  a  thick  head  of 
hair.  Here  and  there  through  the  carpet  of  ivy 
which  covers  their  sides,  are  gothic  windows, 
embrasures  and  gaps  resembling  mouths  of 
caverns,  through  which  one  can  see  the  stairs. 
The  only  birds  to  be  seen  flying  round  this 
desolate  habitation  are  buzzards,  which  hover 
about  in  silence  ;  and  if  occasionally  the  cry  of 
a  bird  is  heard,  it  is  sure  to  be  an  owl  whose 
nest  is  there.  .  .  =  When  I  remember  at  sight 
of  this  stronghold,  that  it  was  formerly  inhabited 
by  petty  tyrants  who  from  there  used  to  plunder 
their  unlucky  vassals  and  even  travellers,  I 
seem  to  see  the  carcass  of  some  great  beast  of 
prey."  This  conclusion  is  from  a  man  who,  in 
default  of  an  historical  sense,  has  at  least  an 
historical  imagination. 

Love  inspires  him  with  a  charming  page  on 
the  expansion  of  every  living  thing  during  the 
love-season.  The  plant  opens  its  flowers,  the 
bird  puts  on  his  most  beautiful  plumage,  the 
wild  beasts  fill  the  forests  with  their  roaring,  and 
the  soul  of  the  young  man  "  receives  its  full 


The  "Etudes  de  la  Nature"      123 

expansion."  His  soul  also  opens  its  flowers  and 
exhales  its  perfume  of  generosity,  candour,  hero- 
ism, and  holy  faith,  and  love  adorns  it  with 
wondrous  graces  which  take  the  form  of  "  all 
the  characteristics  of  virtue."  It  is  a  dazzling 
metamorphosis,  and  it  is  in  some  sort  a  disguise, 
for  the  virtues,  which  are  only  a  transforma- 
tion of  love,  run  great  danger  of  evaporating 
with  the  age  of  love,  like  the  parade  dress 
of  certain  birds  in  the  Indies,  which  are  only 
lent  by  nature  during  the  pairing  season. 
Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  remarks  that  certainly 
young  men  have  some  modesty,  and  that  "  most 
of  our  old  men  have  none  at  all,  because  they 
have  lost  the  feeling  of  love."  Honour  to  the 
sentiment  which  thus  raises  us  above  ourselves  ! 
It  is  a  great  thing  to  have  felt  certain  things 
once  in  our  lives. 

Admiration  is  another  of  the  moral  laws  by 
which  nature,  left  to  herself,  governs  the  earth. 
The  author  adds  to  it  the  pleasures  of 'ignorance \ 
which  he  declares  to  be  incomparable.  Ignor- 
ance is  the  supreme  blessing  from  Heaven,  the 
masterpiece  of  nature,  "  the  never-failing  source 
of  our  pleasures."  We  owe  to  it  the  exquisite 
enjoyments  of  mystery.  It  takes  away  all  our 
ills,  and  embellishes  the  good  things  of  this  life 
with  illusion,  upholds  the  poetry  of  the  world 
against  science.  "  It  is  science  which  has 


124         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

hurled  the  chaste  Diana  from  her  nocturnal 
chariot ;  has  banished  the  wood-nymphs  from 
our  ancient  forests  and  the  sweet  naiads  from 
our  fountains.  Ignorance  invited  the  gods  to 
share  in  its  joys,  its  sorrows,  its  hymeneal  fes- 
tivities, and  its  funeral  rites :  science  sees 
nothing  there  but  the  elements.  It  has  aban- 
doned man  to  man,  and  thrown  him  upon  the 
earth  as  into  a  desert."  Every  epoch  which 
repudiates  the  supernatural  will  recognize  itself 
in  this  man  abandoned  to  man,  and  feeling  that 
he  is  in  a  desert. 

It  would  have  been  best  to  stop  there, 
glorifying  ignorance  on  poetical  grounds  only. 
Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  spoilt  everything  by 
insisting  on  the  misdeeds  of  science.  He  wished 
to  profit  by  the  occasion  to  crush  his  enemies 
the  Academicians,  men  with  systems,  who  never 
appeared  to  take  his  theories  seriously,  and  he 
gravely  affirms  that  ignorance  is  the  only 
preservative  against  the  errors  into  which  the 
"  so-called  human  sciences  "  plunge  us.  When 
one  knows  nothing,  one  is  sure  to  know  no 
nonsense.  Let  it  be  caid  in  passing  that  the 
scientific  works  of  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre 
confirm  this  maxim  ;  for  if  he  had  not  learnt 
geometry,  he  would  not  have  said  such  absurd 
things  as  we  shall  see  presently,  and  which 
covered  him  with  ridicule  in  the  eyes  of  the 


The  "Etudes  de  la  Nature."      125 

scholars  of  his  day.  But  he  did  not  think  of 
himself  in  celebrating  the  advantages  of  perfect 
ignorance  ;  in  such  a  case  one  never  does  think 
of  oneself. 

After  the  preceding,  one  does  not  expect 
study  to  hold  a  great  place  in  the  plan  of 
education  which  crowns  the  fctudes  de  la  Nature, 
the  object  of  which  is  to  expel  all  evil  senti- 
ments from  the  hearts  of  the  French  people.  To 
begin  with,  Saint-Pierre  abolishes  learning  from 
the  education  of  women,  of  whom  he  only 
purposes  to  make  housekeepers  and  mistresses. 
Love  is  their  only  end  upon  earth,  the  sole 
reason  of  their  existence,  and  experience  has 
proved  that  learning  does  not  help  them  in  this  : 
"  Those  who  have  been  learned,  have  almost  all 
been  unhappy  in  love,  from  Sappho  to  Christina, 
Queen  of  Sweden."  It  is  not  with  theology  and 
philosophy  that  they  gain  a  man's  affection,  it  is 
by  all  their  feminine  seductions,  and  it  is  with 
cookery  that  they  keep  it.  "  A  man  does  not 
like  to  find  a  rival  or  an  instructor  in  his  wife." 
A  husband  likes  good  pastry  when  he  is  well, 
and  good  herb-tea  when  he  is  ill.  He  likes  his 
coffee  to  be  good,  preserves  in  which  "  the  juice 
is  as  clear  as  the  flash  of  a  ruby,"  flowers 
preserved  in  sugar  which  "  display  more  brilliant 
colours  than  the  amethyst  in  the  rocks  of  Gol- 
conda."  He  likes  his  dining-room  to  be  well 


126         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

lighted,  the  fishing  expedition  well  organized. 
Look  at  Cleopatra :  it  was  with  her  talents  as 
mistress  of  the  house  that  she  subjugated 
Antony,  and  made  him  forget  "  the  virtuous 
Octavia,  who  was  as  beautiful  as  the  Queen  of 
Egypt,  but  who  as  a  Roman  dame  had  neglected 
all  the  homely  womanly  arts,  to  occupy  herself 
with  affairs  of  state."  Let  us  beware  of  turning 
our  daughters  into  Octavias.  They  are  to  have 
no  books  ;  the  best  are  of  no  use  to  them.  No 
theatres.  Give  them  a  dancing  master,  a  singing 
master,  let  them  learn  needlework  and  the  science 
of  housekeeping  ;  nothing  more  is  necessary  to  a 
young  girl  in  the  interest  of  her  own  happiness. 
It  is  thus  that  united  families  are  prepared, 
where  contentment  engenders  goodness  and 
makes  virtue  easy.1 

Boys  are  to  leave  classical  studies  alone,  as 
they  onlydelay  at  a  dead  loss  their  entry  into  life. 
Seven  years  of  humanities,  two  of  philosophy, 
three  of  theology ;  twelve  years  of  weariness, 
ambition,  and  self-conceit.  ..."  I  ask  if,  after 
going  through  that,  a  schoolboy,  following  the 
denominations  of  these  same  studies,  is  more 

1  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  had  developed  his  ideas  upon  the 
education  of  women,  long  before  the  publication  of  the  Etudes 
de  la  Nature,  in  a  speech  delivered  in  1777,  without  success,  at 
an  academical  meeting  in  the  country.  Some  of  the  details  given 
here  are  borrowed  from  this  Discours  sur  F  Education  des 
femmes. 


The  " Etudes  de  la  Nature."      127 

human,  more  philosophical,  and  believes  more 
in  God  than  a  good  peasant  who  does  not  know 
how  to  read  ?  Of  what  use  is  it  all  to  most 
men  ?"  A  boy  ought  to  have  finished  his  studies 
and  begun  a  trade  at  sixteen.  Up  to  then  he 
is  to  study  according  to  a  programme  which  has 
made  good  its  way  in  the  world  since,  and  for 
which  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  merits  a  second 
time  the  title  of  pioneer.  These  boys  were  to 
learn  nothing  but  useful  things — arithmetic, 
geometry,  physics,  mechanics,  agriculture,  the 
art  of  making  bread  and  weaving  cloth,  how  to 
build  a  house  and  decorate  it.  A  very  careful 
civil  education.  It  is  generally  forgotten  that 
Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  is  the  inventor  of 
school-drill.  It  was  one  of  his  favourite  ideas ; 
he  even  wished  the  little  school-boys  to  under- 
take the  grand  manoeuvres. 

"During  the  summer,  when  the  harvest  is 
gathered  in,  towards  the  beginning  of  Septem- 
ber, I  should  take  them  into  the  country  in 
battalions,  divided  under  several  flags.  I  should 
give  them  a  picture  of  war.  I  should  let  them 
sleep  on  the  grass  in  the  shadow  of  the  woods, 
where  they  should  prepare  their  food  themselves, 
and  learn  to  defend  and  attack  a  post,  swim  a 
river,  exercise  themselves  in  the  use  of  firearms, 
and  at  the  same  time  in  manoeuvres  taken  from 
the  tactics  of  the  Greeks,  who  are  our  superiors 
in  almost  everything." 


128         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre* 

A  little  Greek  and  Latin  they  might  learn 
during  their  last  years  at  school,  but  taught  "  by 
use,"  without  grammar  ;  lessons  learnt  by  heart, 
or  written  exercises  ;  a  little  law,  something  of 
politics,  some  ideas  upon  the  history  of  religion  ; 
but  no  abstract  speculations  or  researches,  even 
in  science. 

One  did  not  expect  to  meet  so  utilitarian  a 
Bernadin  de  Saint-Pierre.  In  a  hundred  years 
we  have  not  got  beyond  him,  and  yet  we  know 
whether  our  generation  prides  itself  upon  its 
contempt  of  the  schools  or  not.  The  wonder  is 
that  he  found  means  to  retain  his  Louis  XVI. 
sentimentalism  in  spite  of  this  overflow  of  prac- 
tical ideas.  He  corrected  with  one  stroke  of 
his  pen  the  dryness  of  his  programme.  Every- 
thing which  was  to  be  taught  in  his  Ecoles  de 
la  Patrie  —  orthography,  ethics,  arithmetic, 
baking — all,  without  exception,  were  to  be  "  put 
into  verse  and  set  to  music."  Out  of  school- 
hours  the  pupils  were  to  be  commanded  by  "  the 
sound  of  flutes,  hautbois,  and  bagpipes."  Here 
we  find  ourselves  again  in  the  land  of  Utopia, 
and  we  recognise  our  Bernardin. 

The  schemes  of  political  and  social  reforms 
which  fill  the  last  two  volumes  of  the  Etudes 
de  la  Nature  are  full  of  this  curious  mixture  of 
a  practical  mind  with  a  romantic  imagination. 
Saint-Pierre  is  a  democrat,  and  rather  an 


The  "Etudes  de  la  Nature."      129 

advanced  one  for  the  day  for  which  he  was 
writing.  He  works  with  all  his  might  to  dis- 
turb the  existing  state  of  things,  and  the  end  is 
always  simply  a  dream.  You  have  the  impres- 
sion that  in  his  regenerated  state  the  most 
serious  questions  would  be  "  put  into  verse  and 
set  to  music,"  like  the  course  of  geometry  in  his 
model  school.  He  asks  for  the  suppression  of 
large  estates  and  great  capitalists,  monopolies, 
privileged  companies,  the  rights  of  taxation. 
He  proposes  several  means  of  putting  down  the 
nobility,  whose  existence  would  not  fail  in  the 
long  run  to  bring  about  the  downfall  and  ruin 
of  the  State.  He  demands  energetically  the 
confiscation  of  the  property  of  the  clergy  for 
the  good  of  the  poor.  He  wishes  to  replace 
hospitals  with  home  nursing,  by  which  the 
families  of  the  sick  persons  would  benefit ;  to 
ameliorate  prison  regime  and  madhouses,  to 
secure  pensions  to  aged  workmen,  and  to  con- 
struct in  Paris  edifices  large  enough  to  admit  of 
fetes  for  the  people  being  held  there.  All  at 
once  he  interrupts  himself  in  these  grave  sub- 
jects to  describe  an  Elysiiim  of  his  invention, 
which  will  be  like  the  visible  epitome  of  the 
happy  metamorphosis  of  France. 

His  Elysium  is   situated   at   Neuilly,  in  the 
island    of   the    Grande-yatte,  enlarged  by   the 
small  arm  of  the  Seine  and  a  bit  of  the  shore. 
10 


130        Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

It  is  encumbered  with  all  that  the  eighteenth 
century  could  invent  in  the  way  of  symbols, 
allegories,  emblems,  touching  combinations,  and 
instructive  conjunctions.  There  are  nothing  but 
obelisques,  peristyles,  tombs,  pyramids,  temples, 
urns,  altars,  trophies,  busts,  bas-reliefs,  medallions, 
statues,  domes, columns  and  colonnades,  epitaphs, 
mottoes,  maxims,  complicated  bowers,  and  "  en- 
chanted groves."  There  is  not  an  object  of  art 
in  it  which  has  not  a  moral  signification  ;  not  a 
pebble  or  blade  of  grass  which  does  not  give  the 
passer-by  a  lesson  in  virtue  or  gratitude.  Thus, 
for  example,  upon  a  rock  placed  in  the  midst  of 
a  tuft  of  strawberry-plants  from  Chili,  one  reads 
these  words : — 

"  /  was  unknown  in  Europe ;  but  in  such  a 
year,  such  a  one,  born  in  such  a  place,  transplanted 
me  from  the  high  mountains  of  Chili ;  and  now 
I  bear  flowers  and  fruit  in  the  pleasant  climate  of 
France? 

Under  a  bas-relief  of  coloured  marble,  repre- 
senting small  children  eating,  drinking,  and 
enjoying  themselves,  one  would  read  this  in- 
scription : — 

"  We  were  exposed  in  the  streets,  to  the  dogs,  to 
hunger  and  cold ;  such  a  one ,  from  such  a  place, 
lodged  us,  clothed  us,  and  gave  us  the  milk  refused 
to  us  by  our  mothers" 

At  the  foot  of  a  statue,  in  white  marble,  of  a 


The  "  £tudes  de  la  Nature"      131 

young  and  beautiful  woman,  seated,  and  wiping 
her  eyes  with  symptoms  of  sadness  and  joy  : — 

"/  was  hateful  in  the  sight  of  Heaven  and 
before  men  ;  but,  touched  with  repentance,  I 
appeased  Heaven  with  my  tears ;  and  I  have 
repaired  the  evil  which  I  did  to  men,  by  serving 
the  sorrowful? 

Not  far  from  this  repentant  Magdalen,  whose 
marble  face  expresses,  according  to  the  aesthetics 
of  the  day,  at  one  and  the  same  time  joy  and 
sadness,  some  statues  are  erected  to  good  house- 
wives "  who  shall  re-establish  order  in  an  untidy 
house,"  to  widows  who  have  not  re-married  on 
account  of  their  children,  and  to  women  "  who 
shall  have  attained  to  the  most  illustrious  posi- 
tion through  the  very  modesty  of  their  virtues." 
Further  on  are  the  busts  of  inventors  of  useful 
instruments,  ornamented  with  the  objects  which 
they  have  invented :  "  the  representation  of  a 
stocking-frame  and  that  of  a  silk-throwing  mill." 
As  for  the  inventor  of  gunpowder,  if  he  is  ever 
discovered,  there  is  no  place  for  him  in  the 
Elysium. 

Further  away  still,  a  magnificent  tomb,  sur- 
rounded with  tobacco-plants,  is  consecrated  to 
Nicot,  who  imported  tobacco  into  Europe.  A 
tuft  of  Lucern-grass,  from  Media,  "  surrounds 
with  its  tendrils  the  monument  dedicated  to  the 
memory  of  the  unknown  husbandman  who  was 


132         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

the  first  to  sow  seed  on  our  stony  hills,  and  to 
present  to  us  pasturage  which  renews  itself  four 
times  a  year  on  spots  which  were  barren."  And 
so  on  for  all  travellers  who  have  brought  into 
the  country  useful  or  agreeable  plants.  Seeing 
an  urn  in  the  midst  of  a  nasturtium  bed,  a 
pedestal  among  the  potatoes,  the  people  would 
think  of  their  benefactors,  and  their  hearts 
would  be  softened.  They  would  leave  the  island 
Grande-yatte  better  men  ;  easy,  too,  as  to  their 
future,  for  this  sublime  spot  would  make  the 
fortune  of  Paris.  This  Elysium  would  attract  a 
crowd  of  rich  foreigners,  anxious  to  "  deserve 
well "  of  France,  so  as  to  obtain  the  honour  of 
being  buried  in  the  pantheon  of  virtuous  men. 

In  the  eyes  of  Bernadin  de  Saint-Pierre  this 
enormous  toy-fair  was  nothing  less  than  "  the 
re-establishment  of  one  of  the  laws  of  nature 
most  important  to  a  nation — I  would  say  an 
inexhaustible  perspective  of  the  Infinite."  In 
the  same  way  the  reforms  which  have  just  been 
expounded  all  have  for  their  object  "  the  appli- 
cation of  the  laws  of  nature  to  the  evils  ot 
society,"  and  for  a  result  the  cure  of  these  ills 
by  the  return  of  the  "harmonious  laws  of  nature" 
and  the  "  natural  affections."  Unhappily  for 
France,  Saint- Pierre  was  not  the  only  man  who 
knew  what  he  meant  when  he  talked  this  jargon, 
without  sense  to  us.  In  1784  there  was  a  large 


The  " Etudes  de  la  Nature"      133 

number  of  perspns  who  imagined  that  there  was 
something  in  it,  and  that,  in  fact,  nothing  was 
simpler  than  to  return  to  the  "harmonious  laws 
of  nature."  The  fetudes  de  la  Nature  corre- 
sponded with  a  widely-diffused  current  of  ideas, 
and  that  adds  to  their  interest  They  help  to 
represent  to  us  the  condition  of  many  minds 
at  the  beginning  of  the  Revolution.  At  that 
time  they  thought  to  overthrow  everything  to 
the  sound  of  the  bagpipes,  and  they  believed  in 
the  panacea  of  Elysiums. 

We  have  sketched  the  general  plan  of  the 
work  ;  it  now  remains  to  point  out  some  of  the 
ideas  "  by  the  way,"  which  are  its  chief  riches. 
The  author  strongly  suspected  that  he  was  never 
more  interesting  than  when  he  gave  loose  rein 
to  his  pen,  and  he  never  refused  himself  a 
digression  or  fancy.  "Descriptions,  conjectures, 
insight,  views,  objections,  doubts,  and  even  my 
errors,"  he  says  in  his  "  Plan  of  Work,"  "  I  col- 
lected them  all."  He  did  well ;  for  it  is  when 
he  wanders  from  the  point  and  forgets  his 
system  that  he  is  original  and  interesting. 

In  Art  he  could  not  disabuse  his  mind  of  the 
mania  for  moral  effect ;  he  does  not  even  spare 
the  landscape.  "  If  one  wishes  to  find  a  great 
deal  of  interest  in  a  smiling  and  agreeable  land- 
scape, one  must  be  able  to  see  it  through  a  great 
triumphal  arch,  ruined  by  time.  On  the  con- 


134         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

trary,  a  town  full  of  Etruscan  and  Egyptian 
monuments  looks  much  more  antique  when  one 
sees  it  from  under  a  green  and  flowery  bower." 

He  is,  however,  much  more  realistic,  and  con- 
sequently more  modern,  than  his  description  of 
his  Elysium  would  lead  one  to  suppose.  He 
deserves  to  be  pardoned  his  philosophical  land- 
scapes, because  he  was  the  first  to  say  that  there 
is  nothing  ugly  in  nature,  one  only  needs  to 
know  how  to  look  at  it.  Man  disfigures  it  by 
his  works,  but  that  which  he  has  not  touched 
always  retains  its  beauty.  "  The  ugliest  objects 
are  agreeable  when  they  are  in  the  place  where 
Nature  put  them."  A  crab  or  a  monkey  which 
appears  to  you  hideous  in  a  natural  history  col- 
lection, ceases  to  be  so  when  you  see  it  on  the 
shore  or  in  a  virgin  forest ;  they  then  form  an 
integral  part  of  the  general  beauty  of  the  land- 
scape. 

The  same  with  people.  A  fig  for  conven- 
tional types  and  mythological  costumes !  copy 
nature.  Make  real  shoe-blacks  with  their  black- 
ing-boxes ;  real  nuns  with  their  mob-caps  ;  real 
kitchens  with  the  real  milk-jug  and  saucepan. 
Make  your  great  men  look  like  other  people, 
instead  of  representing  them  "like  angel 
trumpeters  at  the  day  of  judgment,  hair  flying, 
eyes  wild,  the  muscles  of  the  face  convulsed,  and 
their  draperies  floating  about  in  the  wind." 


The  "Etudes  de  la  Nature"      135 

"Those  are,"  say  the  painters  and  sculptors, 
"  expressions  of  genius.  But  men  of  genius  and 
great  men  are  not  fools.  .  .  .  The  coins  of  Virgil^ 
Plato,  Scipio,  Epaminondas,  and  even  of  Alex- 
ander, represent  them  with  a  calm,  tranquil  air." 
Show  us  a  real  Cleopatra,  not  "  an  academical 
face  without  expression,  a  Sabine  in  stature, 
looking  robust  and  full  of  health,  her  large  eyes 
cast  up  to  heaven,  wearing  around  her  big  and 
massive  arms  a  serpent  coiled  about  them  like  a 
bracelet.  No,  make  her  as  Plutarch  shows  her 
to  us  :  '  Small,  vivacious,  sprightly,  running 
about  the  streets  of  Alexandria  at  night  dis- 
guised as  a  market-woman,  and,  concealed 
amongst  some  goods,  being  carried  on  Apollo- 
dore's  shoulders  to  go  and  see  Julius  Caesar.'  " 

In  ethics  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  warmly 
combats  the  theory  of  the  influence  of  climate, 
race,  soil,  temperament  and  food  upon  the 
vicious  or  virtuous  tendencies  of  men.  It  seemed 
to  him  absurd  to  say,  like  Montesquieu,  that  the 
mountain  is  republican,  and  the  plain  monarchic ; 
that  cold  makes  us  conquerors,  and  heat  slaves. 
That  is  only  "  a  philosophical  opinion  ...  re- 
futed by  all  historical  evidence." 

He  attacked  with  the  same  ardour  the  theory 
of  heredity  which  has  become  so  widespread  in 
our  day.  "  I  myself  ask  where  one  has  ever 
seen  inclination  to  vice  or  virtue  communicated 


136         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

through  the  blood  ?  "  History  proves  that  that 
too  is  only  "  a  philosophical  opinion,"  and  it  is  a 
good  thing  that  it  is  so,  for  man  would  no  longer 
be  at  liberty  to  choose  between  good  and  evil  if 
these  different  doctrines  were  true. 

It  is  curious  to  see  the  partisans  of  free-will  pre- 
occupying themselves,  more  than  a  hundred  years 
ago,  with  the  theory  of  heredity.  It  is  a  proof 
that  ideas  float  about  a  long  time  in  the  air  in  the 
germ-stage  before  they  come  to  maturity  and 
are  adopted  into  the  general  advance  of  thought. 
It  would  be  as  absurd  to  pretend  that  Bernardin 
de  Saint- Pierre  had  actually  conceived  the 
physiological  law,  whose  consequences  make  him 
so  indignant  as  to  attribute  the  discoveries  of 
Darwin  to  his  grandfather  Erasmus.  It  is  none 
the  less  true  that  his  generation  had  glimmering 
ideas  of  a  number  of  questions  which  have 
become  common-places  in  the  second  half  of  the 
nineteenth  century. 

With  a  little  good  will  we  find  even  in  the 
Etudes  de  la  Nature  a  kind  of  embryo  of 
Hegel's  theory  of  Contradictions.  Contraries 
produce  agreement,  said  Bernardin  de  Saint- 
Pierre.  "  I  look  upon  this  great  truth  as  the  key 
to  the  whole  of  philosophy.  It  has  been  as 
fruitful  in  discoveries  as  this  other  maxim : 
'  Nothing  has  been  made  in  vain.' "  He  adds  : 
*'  Every  truth,  except  the  truths  of  fact,  is  the 


The  "Etudes  de  la  Nature"      137 

result  of  two  contrary  ideas.  ...  If  men  paid 
attention  to  this  law,  it  would  put  an  end  to 
most  of  their  mistakes  and  their  disputes ;  for 
one  may  say  that  everything  being  compensated 
by  contraries,  every  man  who  affirms  a  simple 
proposition  is  only  half  right,  because  the  con- 
trary proposition  exists  equally  in  nature." 

We  have  already  said  that  he  had  not  been 
happy  in  the  field  of  science.  It  would  be  doing 
him  a  service  to  pass  over  in  silence  this  part  of 
his  work,  but  his  shade  would  not  forgive  us. 
He  attached  an  enormous  importance  to  it,  and 
only  attributed  to  the  spirit  of  routine  and  pro- 
fessional jealousy  the  obstinacy  of  the  learned 
men  in  taking  no  notice  of  his  two  chief  dis- 
coveries— the  origin  of  tides,  and  the  elongation 
of  the  poles.  We  will  explain  them  briefly.  It 
is  picturesque  science  if  ever  anything  was. 

The  poles,  says  Saint-Pierre,  are  covered  with 
an  immense  cupola  of  ice,  "  according  to  the 
experience  of  sailors,  and  also  of  common  sense. 
The  cupola  of  the  north  pole  is  about  two  thou- 
sand leagues  in  diameter,  and  twenty-five  in 
height.  It  is  covered  with  icicles,  which  are  about 
ten  leagues  high.  The  cupola  of  the  south  pole 
is  larger  still.  Each  one  melts  alternately  during 
half  the  year,  according  as  each  hemisphere  is  in 
summer  or  winter.  The  two  poles  are  thus  'the 
sources  of  the  sea,  as  the  snow  mountains  are  the 


138         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

sources  of  the  principal  rivers.'  From  the  sides 
of  the  poles  escape  currents  which  produce  the 
great  movements  of  the  ocean.  This  granted, 
the  flow  of  these  currents  takes  its  course  to  the 
middle  channel  of  the  Atlantic  ocean,  drawn  to- 
wards the  line  by  the  diminution  of  waters  which 
the  sun  evaporates  there  continually.  Two 
contrary  currents  or  collateral  eddies  are  thus 
produced,  which  are  in  fact  the  tides." 

Now  imagine  the  terrestrial  globe  capped  at 
the  two  poles  with  these  formidable  glaciers, 
beside  which  Mont  Blanc  is  only  a  mole-hill. 
The  globe  is  necessarily  oval  in  form.  "  In  truth 
some  celebrated  academicians  have  laid  down  as 
a  principle  that  the  earth  is  flattened  at  the 
poles."  *  According  to  them  "  the  curve  of  the 
earth  is  more  sudden  towards  the  equator  in  the 
sense  north  and  south,  because  the  degrees  are 
there  smaller ;  and  the  earth,  on  the  contrary,  is 
flatter  towards  the  poles  because  the  degrees  are 
larger  there." 

Note  that  it  is  not  only  "  celebrated  academi- 
cians," but  all  the  astronomers,  all  the  geographers, 
every  one  having  some  notions  of  geometry,  who 
conclude,  from  the  increase  in  length  of  the 

1  The  celebrated  academician  to  whom  allusion  is  made  in 
this  passage  is  Pierre  Bouguer,  who  took  part  in  the  scientific 
expedition  sent  to  the  equator  in  1736  to  determine  the  shape 
of  the  earth.  The  quotation  which  follows  is  taken  from  his 
Traite  de  la  Navigation,  Book  II.,  Chap.  xiv. 


The  "Etudes  de  la  Nature"      139 

degrees  of  the  equator,  that  the  earth  is  flat  at 
the  poles.  But  from  these  same  measurements, 
of  which  he  does  not  dispute  the  accuracy,  Ber- 
nardin  de  Saint-Pierre  draws  an  absolutely  con- 
trary conclusion.  Here  is  an  abridgment  of  his 
demonstration.  "  If  one  placed  a  degree  of  the 
meridian  of  the  polar  circle  upon  a  degree  of  the 
same  meridian  at  the  equator,  the  first  degree 
would  exceed  the  second  according  to  the  ex- 
periments of  the  academicians.  Consequently 
if  one  placed  the  whole  arc  of  the  meridian 
which  crowns  the  polar  circle,  and  which  is 
forty-seven  degrees,  upon  an  arc  forty-seven 
degrees  of  the  same  meridian  near  the  equator, 
it  would  produce  a  considerable  enlargement 
there,  because  its  degrees  are  larger.  .  .  .  As  the 
degrees  of  the  polar  curve  are,  on  the  contrary, 
larger  than  those  of  an  arc  of  the  circle,  the 
entire  curve  must  be  as  extensive  as  an  arc  of  the 
circle  ;  now  it  cannot  be  more  extensive  than  by 
supposing  it  more  enlarged  and  circumscribed  at 
this  arc  ;  consequently  the  polar  curve  forms  an 
elongated  ellipsis." 

If  there  happens  to  be  amongst  my  readers  a 
graduate  of  science,  the  defects  of  this  rea- 
soning must  be  obvious  to  him.  Saint-Pierre 
implicitly  believes  that  the  two  verticles  whose 
angle  forms  a  degree  meet  in  the  centre  of  the 
earth,  which  would  be  true  if  the  earth  was  a 


140        Bernard/in  de  St.  Pierre. 

perfect  sphere,  but  which  is  not  so  at  all  if  it  is 
flat  at  the  poles,  as  all  the  world  admits  it  to  be, 
or  if  it  is  elongated,  as  he  maintains.  He  was 
apparently  unaware  that  the  curve  of  a  contour 
at  a  certain  point  is  defined  according  to  the 
radius  of  the  circle  of  curvature  at  that  point, 
and  that  the  curve  is  greater  than  the  radius,  and 
consequently  the  degree  of  the  circle  of  curvature 
is  smaller.  The  smallness  of  the  degrees  at  the 
equator  is,  then,  a  proof  that  the  curve  is  larger 
there,  or,  what  comes  to  the  same  thing,  that  the 
earth  is  flat  at  the  poles.  His  strange  mistake 
proves  that  his  scientific  equipment  was  limited 
to  the  most  elementary  knowledge  of  geometry, 
which  makes  his  audacity  in  continually  going 
to  war  against  "  the  celebrated  academicians," 
against  Newton,  and  every  scholar  whose  works 
thwarted  his  poetical  ideas  about  the  universe, 
very  characteristic.  It  is  the  indication  of  a 
strong  dash  of  infatuation,  to  which  is  joined  an 
equally  large  dash  of  obstinacy.  He  never 
admits  that  he  might  have  been  mistaken.  He 
fought  all  his  life  for  his  theory  about  the  tides 
and  his  elongation  of  the  poles.  He  judged  of 
men  by  their  manner  of  speaking  of  it,  or  being 
silent ;  it  was  for  him  the  touchstone  of  charac- 
ter no  less  than  of  the  intelligence.  Whosoever 
expressed  an  objection  to  it  was  an  ignoramus 
or  a  fool,  if  he  was  not  malicious.  Whosoever 


The  "J$ tildes  de  la  Nature."      141 

said  nothing  was  a  vulgar  pedant,  an  abject 
flatterer,  one  of  those  servile  creatures  who  "only 
flatter  accredited  systems  by  which  one  gains 
pensions."  (Letter  to  Duval,  December  23, 
1785.)  All  the  French  scholars  had  the  misfor- 
tune to  place  themselves  in  one  of  these  positions, 
and  many  sharp  words  were  the  consequence. 

Bernardin  is  not  the  first  nor  the  last  writer 
who  has  mistaken  his  real  vocation.  His  was 
neither  science,  nor  philosophy,  nor  teaching.  It 
was  the  love  of  the  fields,  the  profound  feeling 
and  passion  for  this  living  and  changing  spec- 
tacle which  we  call  a  landscape.  The  design  of 
his  work  impelled  him  to  abandon  himself  to  his 
adoration.  He  lost  himself  in  it,  and  the  result 
was  a  book  which,  when  it  appeared,  was  unique. 
From  end  to  end  it  is  nothing  but  descriptions  ; 
of  the  tropics,  of  Russia,  of  the  Island  of  Malta, 
of  Normandy,  and  of  the  environs  of  Paris.  His 
travels  had  taught  him  to  observe.  The  hurri- 
cane in  the  Indian  Ocean,  and  the  aurora  borealis 
of  Finland  had  made  him  more  sensitive  than 
ever  to  the  sweetness  of  French  scenery,  to  the 
charm  of  a  bit  of  meadow,  or  a  hedge  in  flower. 
He  is,  besides,  much  more  sure  of  himself  than  in 
the  beginning,  much  more  capable  of  depicting 
whatever  struck  his  fancy.  His  powers  did  not 
betray  him  any  more  as  they  had  done  in  the 
Voyage  to  the  Isle  of  France.  There  is  an  end  of 


142         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

general  descriptions  and  abstract  epithets  ;  at 
the  first  glance  we  are  made  to  distinguish  the 
characteristic  of  each  tree,  each  tuft  of  grass,  the 
colour  of  every  stone,  and  of  merging  those  par- 
ticular and  manifold  impressions  in  a  general 
impression.  Here,  for  example,  is  a  scene  in 
Normandy,  taken  from  the  first  etude,  into  which 
enter  only  "localities,  animals,  and  vegetables 
of  the  commonest  kind  in  our  climate."  It 
has  all  the  air  of  having  been  destined  by  the 
author  to  instruct  those  persons  who  do  not 
admire  anything  less  than  the  Bay  of  Naples. 
In  any  case  it  was  a  revelation  in  the  way  of  a 
landscape,  taken  no  matter  whence,  and  of  the 
colours  which  the  French  language  even  then 
offered  to  its  painters  in  prose  and  verse. 

Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  supposes  himself  to 
be  upon  "  the  most  barren  spot,  a  rock  at  the 
mouth  of  a  river,"  and  to  be  at  liberty  to 
ornament  it  with  plants  suitable  to  such  a  soil. 
These  plants  spring  to  life  under  his  pen,  and 
one  sees  them  overrun  this  miserable  corner 
of  earth  until  its  bareness  disappears  under 
a  glorious  mantle  of  vegetation  in  all  sorts  of 
brilliant  and  soft  tints.  "That  on  the  side 
towards  the  sea  the  waves  shall  cover  with 
foam,  its  rocks  clad  with  wrack,  fucus,  and  sea- 
weed of  all  colours  and  all  forms — green,  brown, 
purple,  in  tufts  and  garlands,  as  I  have  seen 


The  "Etudes  de  la  Nature."      143 

it  in  Normandy,  on  crags  of  marl,  detached 
from  its  cliffs  by  the  sea ;  then  on  the  side 
towards  the  river  one  shall  see  on  the  yellow 
sand,  fine  turf  mixed  with  clover,  and  here 
and  there  some  tufts  of  marine  wormwood. 
Let  us  plant  there  some  willows,  not  like  those 
of  our  meadows,  but  with  their  natural  growth 
— let  us  not  forget  the  harmony  of  the  different 
ages — that  we  may  have  some  of  these 
willows  smooth  and  succulent,,  shooting  their 
young  branches  into  the  air,  and  others  very 
old,  whose  drooping  branches  form  cavernous 
bowers ;  let  us  add  to  these  their  auxiliary 
plants,  such  as  green  mosses  and  golden-tinted 
lichens,  which  variegate  their  grey  bark,  and 
a  few  of  those  convolvuli  called  lady's  smocks, 
which  like  to  climb  round  the  trunk  and  adorn 
the  branches  that  have  no  apparent  flowers 
with  their  heart-shaped  leaves  and  bell-shaped 
flowers,  white  as  snow.  Let  us  also  place  there 
the  animal  life  natural  to  the  willow  and  its 
plants — the  flies,  beetles,  and  other  insects,  with 
the  winged  creatures  who  do  battle  with  them, 
such  as  the  aquatic  dragon- flies,  gleaming  like 
burnished  steel,  who  catch  them  in  the  air,  the 
water-wagtails  who,  with  their  tails  cocked, 
pursue  them  to  earth,  and  the  kingfishers  who 
lie  in  wait  for  them  at  the  water's  edge." 

Here  we  have  the  rock  quite   covered  with 


144         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

a  thousand  different  tints,  and  yet  remark  that 
Saint-Pierre  has  only  given  us  one  kind  of  tree 
Let  us  finish  the  picture.  "  Contrast  with  the 
willow  the  alder,  which  like  it  grows  on  the 
banks  of  rivers,  and  which  by  its  form,  resem- 
bling a  turret,  its  broad  leaves,  its  dusky  green 
colour,  its  fleshy  roots,  like  cords  running  along 
the  banks  and  binding  up  the  soil,  differs  in 
every  way  from  the  thick  mass,  the  light-green 
foliage,  grey  underneath,  and  the  taproots 
of  the  willow  ;  add  to  this  the  plants  of  different 
ages  which  cling  to  the  alder,  like  so  many 
odalisques  of  greenery,  with  their  parasites, 
such  as  the  maidenhair  fern,  shining  out  like 
a  star  on  its  humid  trunk,  the  long  hart's-tongue 
fern  hanging  down  from  its  branches,  and  the 
other  accessories  of  insects,  birds,  and  even 
quadrupeds,  which  probably  contrast  in  form, 
in  colour,  in  manner  and  instincts  with  those  of 
the  willow." 

The  picture  is  now  complete  as  regards  form 
and  colour,  but  how  much  is  wanting  to  it  still  ! 
First  of  all  the  flash  of  light.  We  light  up  our 
rock  with  the  "  first  flush  of  dawn,"  and  we  see 
at  the  same  time  strong  shadows  and  transparent 
ones  thrown  upon  the  grass,  and  dark  and 
silvery  green  shades  flung  upon  the  blue  of 
the  heavens,  and  reflected  in  the  water.  Now 
we  will  put  life  into  it  "  Let  us  imagine  here 


The  "Etudes  de  la  Nature."      145 

what  neither  painting  nor  poetry  can  render — 
the  odour  of  the  herbs,  even  that  of  the  sea, 
the  trembling  of  the  leaves,  the  humming  of 
the  insects,  the  morning  song  of  the  birds,  the 
rumbling,  hollow  murmurs,  alternated  with  the 
silence  of  the  billows  which  break  on  the  shore, 
and  the  repetitions  that  the  echoes  make 
of  all  these  sounds  in  the  distance,  as  they 
lose  themselves  in  the  sea  and  seem  like  the 
voices  of  the  nereids."  Now  it  is  finished, 
and  if  you  do  not  breathe  the  salt  air,  do  not 
feel  yourself  surrounded  by  the  universal  life, 
before  this  medley  of  changing  colours  and 
variable  forms,  this  rustling,  mumuring,  roaring, 
it  must  be  that  the  feeling  for  nature  is  not 
awakened  in  you — you  are  before  Bernardin 
de  Saint-Pierre's  day,  and  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury has  passed  in  vain  for  you. 

Perhaps  we  see  better  still  the  indefatigable 
activity  of  nature  in  the  Jardin  abandonne. 
It  is  a  French  garden,  with  straight,  trimmed 
walks,  symmetrical  flower-beds,  regular  fountains, 
and  mythological  statues.  A  country  house 
stands  in  the  midst  of  it.  The  hand  of  man 
has  been  withdrawn  from  this  place,  once  so 
well  cared  for,  and  it  becomes  what  the  general 
life  of  earth  chooses  to  make  of  it.  It  is  soon 
done.  "  The  ponds  become  swamps  ;  the 
hedges  of  yoke-elm  look  ragged  ;  all  the  arbours 
ii 


146         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

are  choked  up,  and  all  the  avenues  overgrown. 
The  vegetation  natural  to  the  soil  declares 
war  against  the  foreign  vegetation ;  the  starry 
thistles,  and  the  vigorous  mullein  choke  the 
English  turf  with  their  large  leaves  ;  thick 
masses  of  coarse  grass  and  clover  crowd  round 
the  judas  trees ;  dog  rose-briers  climb  upon 
them  with  their  thorny  brambles,  as  though 
they  were  going  to  take  them  by  assault ;  tufts 
of  nettles  take  possession  of  the  naiad's  urn, 
and  forests  of  reeds  the  Vulcan's  forges ;  greenish 
patches  of  moss  cover  the  faces  of  the  Venuses, 
without  respect  for  their  beauty.  Even  the 
trees  besiege  the  house  ;  wild  cherry  trees,  elms, 
and  maples  rise  to  the  roof,  thrusting  their  long 
taproots  into  its  raised  parapet,  finally  taking 
command  of  its  proud  cupulas."  In  the  eyes 
of  a  passer-by  this  is  merely  a  ruin  ;  in  Ber- 
nardin's  it  is  the  re-establishment  of  order 
and  beauty.  Man  appears  to  him  nowhere 
so  mischievous  as  when  he  alters  the  land- 
scape. 

His  descriptions  of  foreign  countries  had  a  very 
great  success  and  a  great  influence.  As  his  first 
book  was  not  much  read,  it  is  through  the  second 
that  he  has  been  the  father  of  exoticism  in 
French  literature.  Chateaubriand  found  his  path 
prepared  when  he  wrote  Atala.  Another  had 
already  revealed  the  virgin  forest,  dazzled  the 


The  "Etudes  de  la  Nature"      147 

eyes  with  tropical  colouring,  and  amused  the 
mind  with  strange  types  and  costumes.  Ber- 
nardin  de  Saint-Pierre  carried  the  taste  for 
exoticism  to  childishness,  as  we  do  in  our  day, 
and  he  it  was  who  invented  exhibitions  of 
savages  and  semi-savages.  He  dreamed  of 
drawing  to  Paris  Indians  with  their  canoes, 
caravans  of  Arabs  mounted  on  camels  and 
bullocks,  Laplanders  in  their  reindeer  sledges, 
Africans  and  Asiatics.  "  What  a  delight  for 
us,"  he  said,  "  to  take  part  in  their  joy,  to  see 
their  dances  in  our  public  squares,  and  to  hear 
the  drums  of  the  Tartars,  and  the  ivory  horns 
of  the  negroes,  resounding  around  the  statues  of 
our  kings." 

To  sum  up,  the  Etudes  de  la  Nature  is  a  beauti- 
ful prose  poem  upon  a  bad  philosophical  thesis. 
In  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  Providence  had 
a  compromising  advocate,  which  happens,  how- 
ever, pretty  often.  Not  content  with  dragging 
the  final  causes  into  everything,  he  gave  them 
such  a  royal  following  of  false  ideas  and 
scientific  errors,  that  the  reading  of  his  book 
becomes  in  places  irksome.  In  order  to  find 
pleasure  in  it  to-day  we  must  follow  his  advice, 
throw  away  reason  and  give  ourselves  up 
entirely  to  feeling.  In  such  a  case  it  is  im- 
possible not  to  be  touched  with  this  effort 
to  recall  man  to  the  thought  of  the  Infinite, 


148         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

or  not  to  let  oneself  be  seduced  by  the  charm 
of  the  advocate.  As  soon  as  we  have  given 
up  disputing  with  the  author  on  fundamental 
grounds,  we  are  filled  with  pleasure  at  his 
sincere  enthusiasm,  the  wealth  of  his  sensations 
and  their  quite  modern  subtilty.  He  is  himself 
as  though  intoxicated  by  the  vividness  of  his 
impressions.  By  the  strength  of  his  love  for 
nature  he  confounds  it  with  the  Divinity,  and 
adores  the  works  instead  of  the  Author  of  them. 
He  speaks  of  nature  with  a  tenderness  which 
communicates  itself  to  his  writing  and  wins  over 
his  reader.  He  wished  to  re-open  the  door 
to  Providence,  he  re-opened  it  to  the  great  god 
Pan;  a  result  which  was  not  worth  the  other, 
no  doubt,  but  which  has  had  immense  conse- 
quences in  our  century. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
11  PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA." 

EFORE  the  appearance  of  the  Etudes  de 
1  J  la  Nature,  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  was 
a  poor  devil,  in  want,  and  little  known  outside 
one  or  two  salons,  where  he  was  not  liked,  and 
with  reason.  He  quite  counted  upon  his  work 
not  passing  unnoticed.  "  I  dare  say  that  I 
shall  astonish  you,"  he  wrote  to  Hennin,  before 
going  to  print,  when  announcing  his  intention 
of  reading  a  fragment  of  his  MS.  to  him  ;  but 
it  is  doubtful  whether  he  expected  to  make  a 
noise  in  the  world.  He  had  said  what  he 
wished  to  say,  but  not  in  the  manner  which  he 
had  dreamed  of.  His  language  appeared  to 
him  poor,  in  spite  of  his  efforts  to  vary  his 
vocabulary.  "  The  new  career  which  I  have 
adopted,"  he  said,  "  has  not  furnished  me  with 
new  expressions ;  I  have  often  to  repeat  the 
same.  But  notwithstanding  its  defects,  which 
spring  from  the  incapacity  of  the  workman,  I 
149 


150         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

dare  to  affirm  that  the  basis  of  my  work  is 
calculated  to  throw  a  great  light  on  every  part 
of  nature,  and  to  overthrow  the  methods  which 
are  employed  to  study  it.  What  a  fertile 
subject  it  would  be  in  happier  hands."  (Letter 
to  Hennin,  December  25,  1783.)  For 
himself  the  Etudes  de  la  Natiire  was  valuable 
because  of  the  ideas  in  it ;  the  form  they  took 
was  of  less  importance — a  judgment  which 
appears  very  singular  to  us  in  our  day. 

There  is  as  much  astonishment  as  pleasure  in 
the  first  letters  where  he  tells  his  old  friend  of 
the  enthusiastic  reception  given  to  his  book 
by  the  public.  "  I  receive  letters  in  which  I 
am  exalted  far  above  my  merits  ;  I  really  must 
have  done  something  quite  out  of  the  common. 
I  have,  however,  but  touched  upon  the  shadows 
of  the  reality.  It  is  but  a  trifle,  the  work  of  a 
man"  (March  i,  1785).  Three  days  later:  "I 
receive  .  .  .  private  letters  from  persons  with 
whom  I  have  no  connection,  but  which  praise 
me  too  much  to  allow  of  my  showing  them  to 
any  one."  The  applause  grew,  reached  the 
provinces,  and  became  formidable.  As  is  usual, 
the  author  quickly  got  accustomed  to  it,  and 
soon  learnt  to  speak  with  complaisance  of  the 
shower  of  visits,  letters,  and  invitations  to  dinner 
which  descended  upon  his  garret.  "  An  old 
friend  of  Jean-Jacques  and  D'Alembert  came 


"Paul  and  Virginia"  151 

to  express  all  sorts  of  affection  and  interest  in 
me,  and  wished  actually  to  carry  me  off  to  his 
country  house.  He  appeared  to  have  been 
particularly  struck  with  what  I  have  said  about 
plants.  Painters  are  enraptured  with  what  I 
have  said  about  the  arts  ;  others  upon  educa- 
tion ;  and  yet  more  on  the  causes  of  the  tides  " 
(March  20,  1785).  "It  seems  that  my  book 
makes  a  great  sensation  amongst  the  clergy  ;  a 
grand  vicar  of  Soissons,  named  M.  FAbbe"  de 
Montmignon,  came  to  see  me  four  or  five  times, 
and  begged  me  to  accept  a  lodging  with  him  in 
his  country  house,  so  that  I  might  satisfy  my 
taste  for  the  fields.  I  told  him  that  in  truth  I 
did  wish  for  a  country  house,  but  not  other 
people's.  .  Another  grand  vicar  of  Agde, 
called  M.  1'Abbe  de  Bysants,  came  to  see 
me,  .  .  .  and  is  going  to  take  me  next  Wednes- 
day to  visit  the  Archbishop  of  Aix,  who  wishes 
to  see  me  in  order  to  speak  of  me  at  the  con- 
vocation of  the  clergy.  .  .  .  There  are  five  or 
six  great  dinners  that  I  have  refused  during  the 
last  eight  days "  (April  25).  "  Sentimental 
people  send  me  letters  full  of  enthusiasm  ;  from 
women  I  get  receipts  for  my  ailments  ;  rich 
men  offer  me  dinners  ;  gentlemen  of  property 
country  houses  ;  authors  their  works  ;  men 
of  the  world  their  influence,  their  patronage, 
and  even  money.  I  find  in  all  that  but  the 


152         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

simple   testimony   of    their    good    will "    (June 

3). 

He  is  discreet ;  he  keeps  to  himself  the 
declarations  of  love  by  which  a  man  knows  at 
once  that  he  is  become  celebrated.  None  of 
them  escapes  it,  let  him  be  writer,  statesman, 
or  tenor,  and  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  received 
his  share  like  the  rest.  One  of  the  first  came 
from  a  young  Swiss  lady  of  Lausanne,  whose 
letter  is  a  jewel  of  artless  simplicity.  She 
writes  to  him  that  she  is  young,  beautiful,  and 
rich  ;  that  she  offers  him  her  hand,  with  her 
mother's  sanction,  but  that  being  a  protestant, 
she  does  not  wish  to  marry  a  Roman  Catholic  ; 
she  continues,  "  I  wish  to  have  a  husband  who 
will  love  only  me,  and  who  will  always  love  me. 
He  must  believe  in  God,  and  must  serve  Him 
in  the  same  way  that  I  do  ;  ...  I  would  not 
be  your  wife  unless  we  are  to  work  out  our 
salvation  together."  He  replied  evasively :  "  I 
think  as  you  do,  and  to  love,  Eternity  does  not 
seem  to  me  too  long.  But  before  all  people 
must  know  one  another,  and  see  one  another 
in  the  world."  His  young  correspondent  found 
the  reply  too  vague,  and  sent  a  friend  of  hers 
to  M.  de  Saint- Pierre  to  ask  him  whether  or 
not  he  would  become  a  convert.  The  ambassa- 
dress was  pressing  :  "  You  have  said  that  the 
birds  sing  their  hymns,  each  one  in  his  own 


"Paid  and  Virginia."  153 

language,  and  that  all  these  hymns  are  accept- 
able in  the  sight  of  God  ;  therefore  you  will 
become  protestant  and  marry  my  friend."  M. 
de  Saint-Pierre  contended  :  "  I  have  never  said 
that  a  nightingale  ought  to  sing  like  a  black- 
bird, I  shall  therefore  change  neither  my  religion 
nor  my  song."  The  negotiation  ended  there. 

Another  suit  was  pressed  upon  him  by  an 
abbe.  The  letter  began  with  reproaches  upon 
the  pride  of  which  M.  de  Saint-Pierre  had  given 
proof  on  several  occasions,  and  continued  in 
these  terms :  "  My  niece  is  a  very  amiable 
young  lady,  as  artless  as  innocence  itself,  pure 
as  a  beautiful  spring  day,  of  noble  stature, 
happy  countenance  .  -  .  (we  abridge),  and 
above  all,  of  the  best  disposition."  This  niece 
being  only  seventeen,  her  husband  would  receive 
her  "  straight  from  the  hand  of  nature,  before 
society  had  moulded  her  to  its  methods,"  which 
is  certainly  the  duty  of  the  author  of  the  Etudes 
de  la  Nature.  The  lady  has  not  a  penny,  but 
that  would  evidently  not  deter  the  author  of  the 
Etudes.  "  We  believe,"  wrote  her  uncle,  "  you, 
she,  and  I,  in  Providence."  We  have  not  Ber- 
nardin  de  Saint-Pierre's  reply,  but  he  did  not 
marry  this  time  either. 

He  refused  with  the  same  prudence  invita- 
tions to  go  and  stay  with  people  in  the  country. 
"  Benevolence,"  he  said  wittily,  "  is  the  flower 


154         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

of  friendship,  and  its  perfume  lasts  as  long  as 
one  leaves  it  on  its  stem,  without  plucking  it." 

He  tried  to  reply  to  his  letters,  but  had  to 
give  up  the  attempt ;  they  came  now  from  the 
whole  of  Europe.  Very  soon  he  was  compelled 
to  refuse  them  at  the  post  office,  for  they  did 
not  frank  them  at  that  time.  He  paid  upwards 
of  £80  for  postage  of  letters  in  one  year,  saw 
that  glory  costs  too  much,  and  from  that  time 
made  a  selection  of  his  correspondence. 

At  last,  joy  of  joys  !  the  Queen  Marie 
Antoinette  mentioned  the  Etudes  de  la  Nature 
at  a  dinner  at  Mme.  de  Polignac's,  and  Mme. 
de  Genlis  took  the  princes,  her  pupils,  to  visit 
the  author,  the  lion  of  the  day,  in  his  hermitage. 

The  reasons  of  this  triumph  are  easily  ex- 
plained. The  influence  of  Rousseau,  which  was 
always  growing,  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  it. 
People  only  asked  to  be  sentimental,  to  believe 
in  natural  laws,  to  make  the  social  organisation 
responsible  for  all  their  ills.  Many  of  them,  too, 
only  asked  to  rest  from  the  aggressive  and  dry 
irreligion  in  which  they  had  lived  for  so  long. 
All  the  tender  souls  for  whom  scepticism  is 
never  anything  but  a  passing  mood,  hailed  with 
joy  the  religious  reaction  of  which  the  Etudes  de 
la  Nature  gave  the  signal.  This  was  one  of  the 
two  principal  reasons  of  its  enormous  success. 
The  other  great  reason  was  that  people  were 


"Paul  and  Virginia"  155 

beginning  to  read  the  Confessions  and  the 
Reveries,  just  published  at  Geneva,  and  that 
men's  minds  were  open  to  poetry,  of  which 
they  had  been  for  many  generations  deprived. 
Poetry  was  the  thing  most  wanting  in  France 
at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century,  and  was 
most  in  need  of  being  revived.  Bernardin  de 
Saint-Pierre  was  a  poet,  and  he  brought  them 
a  new  poetry  that  became  popular  in  a  few 
weeks.  As  to  his  false  science,  it  only  irritated 
the  scientists.  The  great  public  was  at  that 
time  very  ignorant  on  all  scientific  subjects,  and 
quite  ready  to  judge  by  sentiment  of  the  origin 
of  volcanoes  and  the  form  of  the  poles.  Ber- 
nardin de  Saint-Pierre's  theories  found  zealous 
partisans,  and  seven  months  had  not  passed 
when  a  candidate  at  the  Sorbonne  presented 
a  thesis  in  which  he  compared  the  Etudes  de  la 
Nature  to  Buffon's  Opaques  de  la  Nature,  which 
was  a  great  enemy  to  final  causes,  as  we  know, 
and  held  the  natural  man  to  be  a  mere  brute. 

Meantime  the  object  of  so  much  praise  re- 
mained poor.  Imitations  of  his  book  appeared 
on  all  sides,  and  took  from  him  the  best  of 
his  profits.  "  Hardly  have  I  gathered  a  few 
sheaves,"  he  wrote  on  the  6th  of  July,  1785, 
"  than  the  rats  enter  my  granary."  Besides 
that  he  worked  hard  to  pay  his  debts,  which 
were  many.  That  is  why  he  begged  just  as 


156         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

before,  pensions  from  the  king  and  gratuities 
from  the  ministers.  The  habit  was  formed,  as 
often  happens  to  men  who  have  had  a  needy 
youth. 

His  first  savings  (he  made  them  in  spite  of 
everything,  and  that  is  what  makes  it  difficult 
to  excuse  him  this  time)  were  devoted  to  buying 
a  cottage  and  garden  in  an  obscure  part  of  the 
town,  amongst  low,  miserable  surroundings. 
His  street  was  not  paved,  and  he  said  gaily 
about  it :  "  Perhaps  if  my  work  continues  to 
bring  me  so  many  visitors,  the  carriage-folk 
will  employ  their  influence  at  least  to  have  it 
cleaned  for  me."  The  ragged  neighbours  did 
not  frighten  him.  "  When  I  came  to  live 
amongst  the  poor  in  this  part  of  the  town," 
he  replied  to  remarks,  "  I  took  my  place 
amongst  the  class  to  which  I  have  belonged 
for  some  time.  Everything  gave  way  to  the 
happiness  of  having  a  corner  of  land  to  dig 
and  mess  about  in.  Hardly  established  in  it, 
the  na'fve  pride  of  the  householder  bursts 
forth  in  his  letters.  He  had  paid  for  house 
and  garden  £200,  and  one  would  think,  in 
reading  what  he  writes  of  it,  that  he  possessed 
an  extensive  park.  He  has  "  an  orchard,  some 
vines,"  and  a  large  space  for  flowers.  He  writes 
to  ask  his  friends  to  give  him  seeds,  bulbs,  and 
plants ;  one  would  imagine  that  all  the  species 


"Paul  and  Virginia."  157 

of  both  hemispheres  would  not  suffice  to  fill  his 
garden.  As  soon  as  his  innocent  mania  is 
known,  they  send  him  from  all  sides  enough  to 
fill  the  parterres  of  Versailles,  but  he  still  finds 
so  much  room  that  he  sows  a  patch  of  vege- 
tables. 

With  all  that  he  is  sad  and  ill.  The  reaction 
has  been  too  great.  He  writes  to  Duval :  "  I 
have  experienced  a  succession  of  such  vexa- 
tious events  .  .  .  that  I  may  say  the  depths  of 
my  soul  have  been  shaken  by  them."  (January 
7>  T787).  To  some  one  who  congratulates  him 
on  his  success,  he  replies :  "  You  only  see  the 
flower,  the  thorn  has  remained  in  my  nerves." 
Little  by  little  he  calmed  down,  recovered  him- 
self, and  gained  enough  courage  to  dispute  the 
genuineness  of  the  judgment  of  the  noble 
tribunal,  which  had  once  condemned  one  part 
of  his  work.  A  fourth  volume  of  the  Etttdts 
de  la  Nature  appeared  in  1788.  It  contained 
Paul  and  Virginia, 

The  introduction  to  Paul  and  Virginia 
clearly  explains  the  intention  of  the  author. 
"  I  had  great  designs  in  this  little  work.  I 
tried  to  depict  in  it  a  different  soil  and  vegeta- 
tion to  those  of  Europe.  Our  poets  have  too 
long  allowed  their  lovers  to  repose  upon  the 
banks  of  streams,  in  the  meadows,  and  under 
the  foliage  of  the  beech-trees.  I  wished  to  place 


158         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

mine  on  the  seashore,  at  the  foot  of  the  rocks, 
in  the  shadow  of  the  cocoa-nut  palms,  bananas, 
and  flowering  lemon-trees.    It  only  needs,  at  the 
other  side  of  the  world,  a  Theocritus,  or  a  Virgil, 
to  give  us  pictures,  at   least  as  interesting   as 
those  of  our  country."     The  ambition  to  be  the 
Theocritus  and  the  Virgil  of  the  tropics,  comes 
out  in  all  that  he  had  hitherto  written,  but  he 
wished  for  something  more  in  his  romance,  and 
what  follows  makes  one  bless  the  insubordination 
of  genius,  which  goes  on  its  way  laughing  at  the 
best  made  plans.     "  1  also  proposed  to  myself 
to    bring  forward   in   it   several   great   truths ; 
amongst  others   this   one,   that   our  happiness 
consists    in    living    according    to    nature    and 
virtue."     A  later  edition  is  still  more  explicit : 
"  This  little  work  is  but  a  relaxation  from  my 
Etudes  de  la  Nature,  and  the  application  which 
I  have  made  of  its  laws  to  the  happiness  of  two 
unhappy  families."     In  other  words,  Bernardin 
de  Saint-Pierre  meant  Paul  and  Virginia  to  be 
an  instructive  and   useful   romance,   a   sort  of 
lesson  in  things  intended  to  prove  the  justice 
of  the  theories  developed  in  his   Etudes  de  la 
Nature,  and  the  wisdom  of  the  reforms  which 
he  there  set  forth.     His  young  hero  and  heroine 
were  to  be  the  living  and  striking  demonstration 
of  the  natural  goodness  of  man,  of  the  useless- 
ness   of  our  vain   sciences,   and  of  an  infinite 


"Paul  and  Virginia."  159 

number  of  other  "  great  truths  "  propounded  in 
the  course  of  his  work.  Happily  the  poet  was 
often  able  to  make  the  philosopher  forget  his 
programme. 

It  is  the  poet,  the  Theocritus  of  the  tropics, 
who  begins.  He  sings  of  a  voluptuous  nature 
that  squanders  her  caresses  upon  two  nurslings. 
She  lulls  them  to  the  murmur  of  the  springs, 
and  smiles  upon  them  in  a  thousand  brilliant 
colours.  Around  their  cradle  is  only  warmth 
and  perfume.  They  develop  harmoniously  in 
this  solitude,  whose  gentle  influences  are  in  ac- 
cord with  the  gentleness  of  the  sentiments  placed 
by  Providence  in  the  hearts  of  the  newly-born. 
Nothing  could  be  more  charming  than  these 
two  beautiful  children,  "  quite  naked,  according 
to  the  custom  of  the  country,  hardly  able  to 
walk,  holding  each  other  by  the  hand  and  under 
the  arms,  as  we  represent  the  twins  in  the 
zodiac.  Night  even  could  not  separate  them ; 
they  were  often  found  in  the  same  cradle,  cheek 
to  cheek,  breast  to  breast,  the  hands  of  each 
round  the  other's  neck,  asleep  in  each  other's 
arms."  These  last  lines  are  exquisite  ;  it  would 
be  impossible  better  to  express  the  ineffable 
graces  of  the  sleep  of  childhood. 

Paul  and  Virginia  grew  up,  and  their  games 
and  little  adventures  are  recounted  with  the 
same  charm.  It  is  not  high  art,  it  is  too  pretty, 


160         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

could  be  too  easily  turned  into  a  ballad,  or 
used  to  decorate  a  chocolate  box,  but  it  is 
delightful  all  the  same.  Besides,  the  beauty  of 
some  of  the  pictures  is  considerably  heightened 
by  their  frames  ;  for  instance,  the  two  children 
performing  pantomines  "  like  the  negroes." 
"  The  place  generally  chosen  for  the  scenes  was 
the  cross-roads  of  a  forest,  whose  glades  formed 
around  us  several  arcades  of  foliage.  In  their 
midst  we  were  sheltered  from  the  heat  during  the 
whole  day  ;  but  when  the  sun  had  sunk  to  the 
horizon,  his  rays,  broken  by  the  trunks  of  the 
trees,  were  divided  among  the  shadows  of  the 
forest  into  long  luminous  beams,  which  produced 
the  most  majestic  effect.  Sometimes  his  whole 
disc  would  appear  at  the  end  of  one  of  the 
avenues,  making  it  sparkle  with  light.  The 
foliage  of  the  trees,  lighted  from  below  with  the 
sun's  saffron-tinted  rays,  shone  with  the  glow  of 
the  topaz  and  the  emerald.  Their  trunks,  mossy 
and  brown,  seemed  to  be  changed  into  columns  of 
antique  bronze  ;  and  the  birds  already  gone  to 
rest  in  silence  under  the  dark  leaves,  there  to 
pass  the  night,  surprised  by  the  vision  of  a 
second  dawn,  would  salute  altogether  the  star  of 
the  day  with  a  thousand  songs."  How  beautiful 
and  true  all  this  is.  This  sudden  illumination 
of  a  great  forest  from  below  by  the  setting  sun, 
is  as  real  as  it  is  dazzling.  One  understands 


"Paul  and  Virginia"  161 

how  scenes  like  that  astonished  a  generation 
brought  up  upon  the  Pastes  of  Lemierre  and  the 
Jardins  of  Delille. 

The  infancy  of  Bernardin  de  Saint- Pierre's 
young  hero  and  heroine  is  passed  entirely  in  a 
a  desert,  far  from  all  society  ;  and  in  them  can 
be  verified  the  statement  made  in  the  Etudes 
de  la  Nature,  that  "  man  is  born  good."  They 
only  possess  virtuous  instincts,  good  feelings,  and 
not  a  germ  of  vice,  for  these, germs  are  only 
communicated  to  us  from  without,  nature  did 
not  place  them  in  us. 

Before  going  further  we  would  remark  once 
again  how  anti-Christian  these  ideas  are.  The 
necessity  for  the  Redemption  disappears  with 
original  sin,  and  Christianity  altogether  is  only 
a  superfluity,  if  not  perhaps  even  charlatanism. 
Faith  must  certainly  have  been  very  weak, 
when  the  author  of  these  heresies  received  from 
religious  people  a  rapturous  welcome,  and  from 
the  Church  of  Rome  so  benignant  a  reception, 
that  the  philosophers  accused  him  of  being  in 
the  pay  of  the  clergy.  Godless  ages  very  soon 
reach  a  point  where  they  lose  their  sense  of 
religion.  Then  there  comes  a  general  atmo- 
sphere of  ignorance  and  want  of  intelligence  of 
sacred  things,  from  which  Christians  who  have 
retained  their  belief  also  suffer ;  they  accustom 
themselves  to  be  too  inexacting,  and  not  to  look 
too  closely  into  things. 

12 


1 62         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

The   moment   arrives    to    educate    the    two 
children,  and  to  demonstrate  what  is  also  said 
in  the  Etudes  de  la  Nature  that,  "  it  is  society 
which  makes  evil  doers,  and  it  is  our  education 
which  prepares  them."      The  philosopher  here 
interrupts  the  poet,   and   explains   his  system. 
Paul  and  Virginia  are  not  "  prepared  "  to  be- 
come wicked,  because  they  are  brought  up  far 
from  schools  and  libraries,  without  any  other 
teacher  than  nature.     "  All  their  study  was  to 
take  delight  in  and  help  one  another.    For  the 
rest  they  were  as  ignorant  as   Creoles,  and  did 
not  know  how  to  read  or  write.     They  did  not 
disturb  themselves  about  what  had  happened  in 
remote   times,    far   from   them  ;  their  curiosity 
did  not  extend  beyond  their  mountain.     They 
believed   that    the    world    ended    where   their 
island  did,  and  they  never  imagined  anything 
pleasant  where  they  were  not     Their  affection 
for  each  other  and  for  their  mothers,  occupied 
all  the  activity  of  their  souls.     Useless  sciences 
had  never  made  their  tears  flow  ;  lessons  of  sad 
morality  had  never  filled  them  with  weariness. 
They  did  not  know  that  they  must  not  steal,  for 
they  had  all  things  in  common  ;  nor  that  they 
must  not  be  intemperate,  for  they  had  as  much 
as  they  liked  of  simple  food  ;  nor  that  they  must 
not  lie,  having  nothing  to  hide.     No   one  had 
ever  frightened  them  by  telling  them  that  God 


"Paul  and  Virginia"  163 

reserves  terrible  punishments  for  ungrateful 
children  ;  with  them  filial  love  was  born  of 
maternal  love."  Daphnis  and  Chloe  had  less 
innocent  souls,  less  pure  from  all  human  teach- 
ing ;  they  knew  how  to  read,  and,  having  flocks 
to  mind,  they  had,  at  least,  been  taught  that 
thieves  exist. 

An  education  so  adapted  to  scandalise  the 
Academies  naturally  produced  the  happiest 
results.  At  twelve  Paul  was  "  more  robust  and 
more  intelligent  than  Europeans  of  fifteen."  He 
had  more  "  enlightenment."  Virginia  was  no 
less  superior  to  the  girls  of  our  countries.  For 
all  that  they  had  no  clocks,  almanacs,  or  books 
of  chronology,  history,  and  philosophy,  they 
were  not  ignorant,  except  to  our  pedantic  ideas, 
as  they  possessed  the  knowledge  which  the 
country  teaches  us.  "  They  knew  the  hours  of 
the  day  by  the  shadows  of  the  trees,  the  seasons 
by  the  time  which  gave  them  their  flowers  and 
their  fruits,  and  the  year  by  the  number  of 
their  harvests."  They  knew  the  names  and 
characteristics  of  all  the  plants  and  birds,  and  of 
everything  which  had  life  in  their  valley  and 
its  environs.  They  knew  how  to  make  every- 
thing necessary  to  the  life  of  a  man  in  the 
country,  and  they  accomplished  all  these  works 
with  the  good  temper  which  comes  from  health, 
open  air,  and  the  absence  of  care.  Seeing  them 


Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 


so  skilful,  ingenious,  and  happy,  their  mothers 
congratulated  themselves  on  having  been  "  com- 
pelled by  misfortune  to  return  to  nature." 

Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  foresaw  that  people 
might  make  some  objections,  and  he  hastened 
to  be  beforehand  with  them.  "You  Euro- 
peans, whose  souls  are  filled  from  infancy  with 
so  many  prejudices  contrary  to  happiness, 
cannot  understand  that  nature  could  give  so 
much  sagacity,  judgment,  and  pleasure.  Your 
souls,  circumscribed  by  a  small  sphere  of  human 
knowledge,  soon  reach  the  limit  of  their  arti- 
ficial pleasures,  but  nature  and  the  heart  are 
inexhaustible."  ,  .  .  After  all,  what  need  had 
these  young  people  to  be  rich  and  learned  in 
our  manner  ?  their  wants  and  their  ignorance 
added  still  more  to  their  happiness.  There  was 
not  a  day  in  which  they  did  not  impart  to  each 
other  some  help  or  some  information,  ay,  real 
information  ;  and  if  some  errors  were  mixed  up 
in  it  a  pure  man  has  no  dangerous  ones  to  fear." 

There  is  a  touch  of  declamation  about  this 
apostrophe.  It  threatens  to  become  a  little 
dull,  when  the  poet  awakes,  and  carries  us  with 
a  flap  of  his  wings  above  all  theories  and  systems. 
The  poet  only  knows  one  thing  :  his  hero  and 
heroine  are  beautiful,  loving,  tender,  at  an  age 
to  love;  let  them  love  therefore.  All  else  is 
forgotten,  and  Bernardin  de  Saint- Pierre  in  his 


"Paul  and  Virginia." 

turn  writes,  like  so  many  others,  the  everlasting 
romance  of  sweet  fifteen.  He  writes  it  with 
chastity  and  fire,  with  a  pure  pen,  but  with  deep 
and  stirring  passion.  Genius  just  touched  him 
with  its  breath  for  the  first  and  last  time,  and  he 
writes  some  pages  of  lofty  conception  such  as 
mere  talent  however  great  cannot  reach. 

"  Nevertheless  for  some  time  Virginia  was 
agitated  by  an  unknown  trouble.  Her  beautiful 
blue  eyes  had  black  circles  under  them  ;  her 
complexion  became  yellow,  and  a  great  languor 
took  possession  of  her.  Serenity  was  no  longer 
on  her  brow,  nor  a  smile  upon  her  lips.  They 
saw  her  all  at  once  gay  without  joy,  and  sad 
without  sorrow.  She  shunned  her  innocent 
sports,  her  pleasant  labours,  and  the  society  of 
her  beloved  family.  She  wandered  hither  and 
thither  in  the  most  lonely  parts  of  the  home- 
stead, everywhere  seeking  repose  and  finding 
none.  .  .  .  Sometimes  at  sight  of  Paul  she 
would  go  towards  him  gaily,  then  all  at  once 
on  getting  near  to  him,  a  sudden  embarrassment 
would  seize  her,  a  vivid  blush  would  dye  her 
pale  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  would  not  dare  to 
meet  his.  Paul  would  say  to  her,  '  These  rocks 
are  covered  with  verdure  ;  our  birds  sing  when 
they  see  thee  ;  everything  around  thee  is  gay, 
thou  only  art  sad,'  and  he  would  try  to  cheer  her 
by  embracing  her,  but  she  would  turn  away  her 


1 66         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

head  and  fly  trembling  towards  her  mother. 
The  unhappy  girl  felt  herself  troubled  by  the 
caresses  of  her  brother.  Paul  could  not  under- 
stand such  new  and  strange  caprices." 

Bernardin  de  Saint- Pierre  had  so  absolutely 
lost  sight  of  his  systems,  that  he  gives  to 
Virginia  the  refined  modesty  which  is  only 
generated  in  creatures  complicated  by  civilisa- 
tion. "  Children  of  Nature "  are  ignorant  of 
these  shy  reserves  which  do  not  occur  at  all 
without  a  certain  amount  of  knowledge.  Longus 
is  much  more  to  the  point  when  he  depicts  the 
amorous  Chloe  kissing  her  Daphnis  with  all 
her  heart,  and  without  thinking  of  any  harm, 
as  a  "  simple  girl  brought  up  in  the  country, 
and  never  having  in  her  life  heard  even  the  name 
of  love." 

A  terrible  summer  came  to  increase  the 
mysterious  trouble  from  which  Virginia  suffered. 
"  It  was  towards  the  end  of  December  when  the 
sun  in  Capricorn,  for  weeks  burns  the  Isle  of 
France  with  its  vertical  rays.  The  south  wind 
which  prevails  there  nearly  the  whole  year, 
blew  no  longer.  Great  clouds  of  dust  rose 
upon  the  roads  and  remained  suspended  in  the 
air.  The  earth  cracked  in  all  directions ;  the 
grass  was  burnt  ;  warm  exhalations  issued  from 
the  sides  of  the  mountains,  and  most  of  the 
brooks  were  dried  up.  Not  a  cloud  came  from 


'''Paul  and  Virginia."  167 

the  side  of  the  sea,  only  during  the  day  a  ruddy 
vapour  would  rise  from  its  plains,  appearing  at 
sunset  like  the  blaze  of  a  conflagration.  Night 
even  brought  no  coolness  to  the  heated  atmo- 
sphere. The  moon,  quite  red,  rose  in  the  misty 
horizon  with  extraordinary  grandeur.  The 
flocks,  prostrate  upon  the  hill-sides,  inhaling  the 
air,  made  the  valleys  echo  with  their  sad 
bleatings.  Even  the  Kafir  tending  them  lay 
upon  the  earth  to  find  some  coolness  there  ; 
but  everywhere  the  ground  'was  burning,  and 
the  stifling  air  resounded  with  the  hum  of 
insects,  trying  to  quench  their  thirst  in  the 
blood  of  men  and  animals." 

The  drama  now  develops  itself  in  strict 
accordance  with  these  exterior  sensations.  "  On 
one  of  those  sultry  nights  Virginia  felt  all  the 
symptoms  of  her  malady  redoubled.  She  rose, 
sat  up,  lay  down  again,  not  finding  in  any 
attitude  sleep  or  repose.  By  the  light  of  the 
moon  she  directed  her  steps  towards  the  spring. 
She  could  see  its  source  which,  in  spite  of  the 
drought,  still  flowed  like  a  silver  thread  along 
the  brown  surface  of  the  rock.  She  plunged 
into  its  trough,  and  at  first  the  coolness  revived 
her,  and  a  thousand  agreeable  recollections 
presented  themselves  to  her  mind.  She  re- 
membered that  in  her  infancy  her  mother  and 
Marguerite  amused  themselves  by  bathing  her 


1 68         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

with  Paul  in  this  same  place  ;  that  Paul  after- 
wards, reserving  this  bath  for  her,  had  hollowed 
it  out,  covered  the  bottom  with  sand,  and  sown 
on  its  margin  aromatic  herbs.  She  caught  a 
glimpse  in  the  water  on  her  bare  arms  and 
bosom  of  the  reflections  of  two  palm-trees, 
planted  at  her  own  and  her  brother's  birth, 
which  interlaced  their  green  branches  and  young 
cocoa-nuts  above  her  head.  She  thought  of 
Paul's  friendship,  sweeter  than  perfume,  purer 
than  the  waters  of  the  springs,  stronger  than 
the  united  palm-trees,  and  she  sighed.  She 
thought  of  the  night,  of  solitude  ;  and  a  de- 
vouring fire  took  possession  of  her.  She  rose 
at  once,  afraid  of  these  dangerous  shadows,  and 
these  waters  more  burning  than  the  suns  of  the 
Torrid  Zone.  She  ran  to  her  mother  to  seek 
protection  from  herself.  Several  times,  wishing 
to  tell  her  her  sufferings,  she  took  her  hands 
between  her  own,  several  times  she  was  near 
breathing  Paul's  name,  but  her  oppressed  heart 
left  her  tongue  without  speech,  and  laying  her 
head  on  her  mother's  breast  she  could  only 
burst  into  floods  of  tears." 

A  tempest  ravages  their  valley  and  destroys 
their  garden,  leaving  however  after  it  a  feeling 
of  peace  and  repose.  Virginia  restored,  becomes 
once  more  familiar  and  affectionate  with  Paul, 
but  it  is  only  a  flash  of  light  in  the  darkness, 


"Paul  and  Virginia''  169 

which  disappears  with  the  expansion  of  nerves 
produced  by  the  cool  damp  air. 

Already  while  his  hero  and  heroine  were  but 
infants,  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  showed  us 
how  nature,  even  at  that  early  age,  mingled 
in  their  pleasures  and  needs,  so  that  "  their  life 
seemed  one  with  that  of  the  trees,  like  the  fauns 
and  hamadryads."  Now  it  is  in  their  passions 
that  nature  takes  part,  and  with  what  intensity 
the  scene  of  the  bath,  and  the  return  of  intimacy 
after  the  storm  show  us  vividly.  The  author 
profits  by  the  characters  he  has  in  hand  to 
realise  a  conception  already  old,  and  establish  a 
bond,  henceforth  indissoluble,  between  the  human 
soul  and  its  surroundings.  The  bond  existed 
before  his  time ;  it  is  as  old  as  the  world  and 
it  acts,  without  their  knowledge,  upon  the  most 
uncultured  beings.  But  in  the  age  and  sur- 
roundings where  men  have  learnt  to  recognise  it, 
to  be  conscious  of  it,  it  requires  so  much  strength 
and  importance  that  we  may  be  allowed  to 
welcome  it  as  a  new  force.  Bernardin  de  Saint- 
Pierre  pointed  it  out,  showed  it  at  work,  and  the 
lesson  was  not  lost.  Chateaubriand  was  twenty  at 
the  time  of  the  appearance  of  Paul  and  Virginia. 
When  his  Rene"  cries  out  amidst  the  whistling 
of  the  wind,  "  Be  swift  to  gather  ye  tempests 
that  I  have  longed  for,"  he  does  not  know 
whether  he  is  speaking  of  real  storms  or  of  those 


170         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

in  his  soul.  He  confounds  them,  and  no  one 
is  unaware  how  much  poetical  inspiration  has 
been  given  to  our  age  by  this  confusion  between 
our  feelings  and  external  impressions. 

Let  us  remark  in  passing  that  it  was  not 
worth  while  being  so  indignant  in  the  Etudes  de 
la  Nature  against  those  who  dared  to  say  that 
morals  vary  with  the  climate.  The  fragments 
which  we  have  just  read  bring  us  to  exactly  the 
same  conclusion. 

It  is  also  a  landscape  which  prepares  us, 
if  I  may  so  express  it,  for  the  scene  of  the  love- 
confession,  when  after  the  episode  of  the  letter 
which  calls  Virginia  away  to  France,  the  two 
young  people  go  out  after  supper  to  spend  their 
last  evening  together.  They  seat  themselves 
upon  a  hillock  and  at  first  remain  absolutely 
silent. 

It  was  one  of  those  delicious  nights  so 
common  in  the  tropics,  whose  beauty  no  brush 
however  skilful  can  paint  The  moon  appeared 
in  the  midst  of  the  firmament,  surrounded  with 
a  curtain  of  clouds  which  were  gradually  dis- 
persed by  her  rays.  Her  light  spread  by 
degrees  over  the  mountains  of  the  island,  and 
over  their  highest  peaks  which  shone  with 
silvery  green.  The  winds  held  their  breath. 
One  heard  in  the  woods,  in  the  depths  of  the 
valleys,  and  on  the  rocky  heights,  little  cries, 


"Paul  and  Virginia''  171 

soft  murmurs  of  birds  billing  and  cooing  in 
their  nests,  happy  in  the  moonlight  and  the 
tranquility  of  the  air.  On  the  ground  every- 
thing seemed  to  be  stirring,  even  the  insects. 

The  night  seemed  to  breathe  of  love  :  an 
intoxicating  languor  stole  over  the  two  lovers, 
and  they  spoke  at  last  and  confessed  their 
secret.  Paul's  speech  is  a  little  too  set,  the 
phrases  too  smooth,  too  careful.  Virginia's 
reply  is  full  of  passion  and  impulse,  even  when 
we  abridge  it,  and  only  retain  the  cry  at  the 
end  :  "  Oh,  Paul,  Paul  !  thou  art  much  dearer 
to  me  than  a  brother  !  How  much  has  it  not 
cost  me  to  hold  thee  at  a  distance  !  .  .  .  Now 
whether  I  remain  or  go,  live  or  die,  do  with  me 
as  thou  wilt.  .  .  ."  At  these  words  Paul  clasped 
her  in  his  arms. 

Virginia  departs,  and  with  her  goes  the  in- 
spiration. Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  seems  to 
be  filled  with  remorse  for  having  lingered  over 
trifles  which  have  taught  us  nothing,  unless  it  is 
that  love  belongs  to  the  number  of  "  natural 
laws "  which  govern  our  earth  (we  ourselves 
rather  question  it).  He  tries  to  make  up  for 
lost  time,  and  succeeds  only  too  well,  for  until 
the  final  catastrophe,  we  never  cease  to  be  taught, 
and  to  verify  the  truth  of  the  ideas  propounded 
in  the  Etudes  de  la  Nature.  Paul  learns  to 
read  and  write  so  as  to  be  able  to  correspond 


172         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

with  Virginia,  and  he  loses  at  once  his  tran- 
quility  of  mind.  What  he  learns  from  romances 
makes  him  uneasy  and  jealous :  "  His  know- 
ledge already  makes  him  unhappy."  He  talks 
sometimes  with  the  other  inhabitants,  but  their 
slander,  their  vain  gossip  are  so  many  more 
causes  of  sorrow  ;  why  was  he  so  imprudent  as 
to  leave  his  desert  ?  "  Solitude  restores  man  in 
part  to  natural  happiness,  by  keeping  from  him 
social  unhappiness." 

He  becomes  ambitious,  dreams  of  gaining 
"  some  high  position  "  so  as  to  be  more  worthy 
of  Virginia.  The  old  man  reveals  to  him  that 
all  the  roads  are  closed  to  those  who  have 
neither  birth  nor  fortune.  Here  follows  a 
digression  upon  hereditary  nobility,  the  traffic 
in  public  offices,  the  indifference  of  the  great  to 
virtue. 

Paul  declares  that  he  will  attach  himself  to 
some  "  society."  "  I  shall  entirely  adopt  its  spirit 
and  its  opinions,"  he  says ;  "  I  shall  make 
myself  liked."  The  old  man  reprimands  him 
severely  for  his  weak  desire  to  cling  to  some- 
thing. Another  digression  upon  the  sacrifice 
of  conscience  demanded  by  societies  which 
"  besides  interest  themselves  very  little  in  the 
discovery  of  truth." 

In  despair  of  his  cause  Paul  decides  to  be  a 
writer.  One  can  imagine  how  this  is  received. 


"  Paul  and  Virginia"  173 

The  old  man  draws  so  black  a  picture  of  the 
persecutions  which  attend  men  of  letters,  that 
the  poor  boy  is  terrified  at  the  thought  of  the 
sufferings  which  each  book  represents,  and  ex- 
claims, embracing  a  tree  planted  by  Virginia, 
"  Ah  !  she  who  planted  this  papaw-tree  has  given 
the  inhabitants  of  these  forests  a  more  useful 
and  charming  present  than  if  she  had  given 
them  a  library."  Further  digression  upon  the 
Gospel  and  the  Greek  philosophers. 

This  is  the  part  that  Mme.  Necker,  at  the 
time  of  the  famous  reading  in  her  salon, 
compared  to  "  a  glass  of  iced  water."  The 
criticism  was  just.  The  author  himself  was 
chilled  by  the  dialogues  between  Paul  and 
the  old  man,  and  cannot  regain  the  passion 
which  carried  him  so  high  just  before.  The 
shipwreck  of  the  Saint-GJran,  and  the  death  of 
Virginia,  which  made  us  all  shed  floods  of  tears 
when  we  were  children,  are,  it  must  be  allowed, 
somewhat  melodramatic,  and  from  a  literary 
point  of  view  very  inferior  to  the  passionate 
scenes. 

Let  us  forget  the  didactic  portions  of  the  work, 
and  the  old  preacher  who  is  no  other  than 
Bernardin  himself.  There  remains  a  love-story, 
one  of  the  most  passionate  ever  written  in  any 
language.  The  more  one  re-reads  it,  the  less 
one  understands  how  it  could  have  been  taken 


174         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

for  an  innocent  and  somewhat  insipid  pastoral. 
Sainte-Beuve  was  surprised  at  it  even  forty 
years  ago.  "  This  charming  little  book,"  he 
writes,  "  which  Fontanes  placed  a  little  too  con- 
ventionally, perhaps,  between  Telhnaque  and  La 
Mort  d'Abel  (de  Gesner),  I  should  myself  place 
between  Daphnis  and  Ckloe,  and  that  immortal 
fourth  book  in  honour  of  Dido."  Theophile 
Gautier  declared  that  Paid  and  Virginia  appeared 
to  him  to  be  the  most  dangerous  book  in  the 
world  for  young  imaginations.  He  recalls  the 
fervid  emotion  which  he  himself  felt  in  reading 
it,  and  which  was  never  equalled  later  by  any 
other  book.1  These  two  criticisms  have  nothing 
exaggerated  in  them.  The  place  of  Virginia 
with  her  beautiful  eyes  and  their  black  circles, 
is  in  the  front  rank  of  illustrious  lovers,  between 
Chloe,  passionate  and  simple,  and  the  despairing 
Dido.  Nevertheless,  such  is  the  empire  of  the 
commonplace,  that  by  dint  of  being  enraptured 
over  the  grace  and  sentiment  of  Bernardin's 
narrative,  one  has  become  accustomed  more  and 
more  to  see  in  it  but  a  superior  Berquin,  and  to 
relegate  it  insensibly  to  the  literature  of  child- 
hood. More  than  one  reader  was  scandalized 
just  now  that  we  dared  to  speak  freely  of  a 
sacred  masterpiece,  though  he  has  not  read  Paul 

1  Theophile  Gautier,  Souvenirs   intimes,   by   Mme.    Judith 
Gautier. 


"  Paul  and  Virginia''  175 

and  Virginia  since  the  days  when  he  bowled  his 
hoop,  and  would  have  been  much  surprised  if  it 
had  been  proposed  to  him. 

At  the  time  when  the  book  was  most  in  favour, 
curiosity  was  rife  to  know  how  far  it  was  a  true 
story.  The  problem  does  not  interest  us  to-day, 
except  for  what  it  teaches  us  about  the  author's 
manner  of  composition.  Our  realistic  novelists 
would  find  little  to  change  in  it. 

The  framework  is  true.  The  landscapes  are 
copied  from  nature  and  perfected  by  a  divina- 
tion as  to  what  would  be  the  tropical  vegetation 
in  a  country  more  fertile  than  the  Isle  of 
France.  "  Paul  and  Virginia"  Humboldt  wrote, 
"has  accompanied  me  to  the  countries  which 
inspired  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre.  I  have  re- 
read it  during  many  years  with  my  companion. 
.  .  .  When  the  noonday  sky  shone  with  its  pure 
brightness,  or  in  rainy  weather,  on  the  shores 
of  the  Orinico,  while  the  rolling  thunderstorm 
illuminated  the  forest ;  and  we  were  struck,  both 
of  us,  with  the  admirable  truth  with  which,  in  so 
few  pages,  the  powerful  nature  of  the  tropics  in 
all  their  original  features  is  represented." 

The  principal  characters  of  Paul  and  Virginia, 
those  whom  he  took  pains  to  make  alive,  are 
formed  of  traits  borrowed  from  flesh  and  blood 
models,  and  arranged  according  as  they  were 
needed.  We  have  already  said  that  the  author 


176         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

put  himself  into  the  book  in  the  character  of  the 
old  man.  In  his  heroine  he  has  recalled  two 
charming  girls  whom  he  had  met  at  one  time  in 
Russia  and  at  Berlin,  Mile,  de  la  Tour,  and  Mile. 
Virginie  Taubenheim. 

Longus  furnished  the  primitive  idea  of  the 
narrative ;  the  transformation  of  friendship  into 
love  at  a  fatal  moment  between  two  young 
people  brought  up  together.  Bernardin  de 
Saint-Pierre  also  borrowed  from  him  several 
points  of  detail ;  there  are  in  the  first  half  of 
Paul  and  Virginia  some  passages  which  very 
closely  follow  Dapknis  and  Chloe. 

The  description  of  the  manners  of  the  Isle 
of  France  was  exact  when  it  was  written. 
Reminiscences  of  several  periods  suggested  the 
episodes.  The  pretty  scene  of  the  children 
sheltering  themselves  from  the  rain  under  Vir- 
ginia's petticoat  had  been  observed  by  Bernardin 
de  Saint-Pierre  in  the  Faubourg  Saint  Marceau. 
The  tragedy  of  the  de"noument  had  been  related 
to  him  ;  he  did  not  see  it  himself,  whence  it 
doubtless  comes  that  it  looks  rather  as  though  it 
had  been  arranged.  "  He  only  knew  how  to 
write  about  what  he  had  seen,"  said  Aime 
Martin  ;  but  what  he  had  seen  he  always  illus- 
trated, and  one  might  even  give  as  an  epigraph 
to  Paul  and  Virginia  the  title  which  Goethe 
chose  for  his  memoirs  :  Poetry  and  Truth. 


"  Paul  and  Virginia''  177 

The  book  was  praised  up  to  the  skies  the 
moment  it  appeared.  It  was  translated  into 
English,  Italian,  German,  Dutch,  Russian,  Polish, 
and  Spanish.  Upwards  of  three  hundred  imita- 
tions were  written  in  French.  It  was  put  into 
novels,  plays,  pictures,  and  popular  engravings. 
Mothers  called  their  newly-born  children  Paul 
or  Virginia.  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  was 
decidedly  a  great  man,  and  in  1791  when  the 
National  Assembly  drew  up  a  Hst  from  among 
which  to  choose  a  governor  for  the  Dauphin,  his 
name  figures  in  it,  in  company  with  that  of 
Berquin,  of  Saint-Martin,  called  the  unknown 
philosopher,  of  de  Sieyes  and  of  Condorcet ;  a 
strange  medley  that  says  a  good  deal  for  the  dis- 
order which  at  that  time  reigned  in  men's  minds. 

This  brilliant  success  was  not  a  mere  flare  up. 
Some  years  later  we  find  the  Bonaparte  family 
showing  a  marked  enthusiasm.  First  there  is  a 
letter  signed  Louis  Bonaparte,  in  which  the 
author  relates  that  he  had  wept  so  much  in 
reading  Paul  and  Virginia  that  he  would  like  to 
know  what  is  true  in  the  story,  "  so  that  another 
time  in  re-reading  it  I  can  say  to  myself  to  com- 
fort my  afflicted  feelings — 'this  is  true,  this  is 
false.' "  Then  comes  a  note  from  General  Bona- 
parte, commanding  the  army  in  Italy,  who  finds 
time  between  two  battles  to  write  to  M.  de 
Saint-Pierre  :  "  Your  pen  is  a  paint  brush ;  all 


178         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

that  you  paint  one  can  see ;  your  works  charm 
and  comfort  us  ;  you  will  be  one  of  the  men 
whom  I  shall  see  oftenest  and  with  most 
pleasure  in  Paris."  After  the  letters  came  visits 
from  Louis,  from  Joseph,  from  Napoleon,  who 
flatter  and  praise  the  writer  of  the  day.  His 
book  never  leaves  them ;  during  the  campaign 
in  Italy,  "  it  reposed  under  the  pillow  of  the 
General-in-Chief,  as  Homer  did  under  that  of 
Alexander."  Joseph  endeavoured  to  imitate  it  in 
a  pastoral  called  Moi'na,  which  he  respectfully 
submitted  to  Saint-Pierre.  Napoleon  envies 
from  the  bottom  of  his  soul  the  peaceful  exis- 
tence of  his  host  "  in  the  bosom  of  nature."  He 
expresses  himself  in  accents  of  such  sincerity 
that  Bernardin  hastens  to  offer  him  a  small 
country  house  of  which  he  had  become  the  pro- 
prietor. The  "  Conqueror  of  Italy  smiled  in 
rather  an  embarrassed  manner  and  murmured 
in  a  low  voice  some  words  about  his  retinue, 
equipment,  and  repose  from  labour,"  but  he  re- 
doubled his  politeness,  and  invited  the  celebrated 
man  to  dinner.  Matters  became  somewhat 
strained  when  the  celebrated  man  refused  to 
enrol  himself  amongst  the  paid  journalists. 
However,  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  never  had 
to  complain  of  the  Empire,  and  on  his  side 
Napoleon  remained  faithful  to  his  admiration 
for  Paul  and  Virginia ;  we  are  assured  that  he 
re-read  it  several  times  at  Saint  Helena. 


CHAPTER  V. 

WORKS  OF  HIS  OLD  AGE — THE  TWO  MARRIAGES — 
DEATH  OF  BERNARDIN  DE  SAINT-PIERRE — His 
LITERARY  INFLUENCE. 

WE  have  not  yet  got  through  half  the  Com- 
plete Works,  and  our  task  is  nearly 
done.  With  the  exception  of  certain  pages, 
pleasant  or  valuable  for  the  information  which 
they  contain,  the  rest  might  as  well  not  have 
been  published  ;  the  reputation  of  the  author 
would  have  lost  nothing  by  it.  In  the  month 
of  September,  1789,  appeared  the  Voeux  (Fun 
solitaire.  The  opening  promises  something 
rural : 

"  On  the  first  of  May,  of  this  year  1789, 1  went 
down  into  my  garden  at  sunrise  to  see  what  con- 
dition it  was  in  after  the  terrible  winter,  in  which 
the  thermometer  on  the  3 1st  of  December  had 
gone  down  to  19°  below  freezing.  .  .  . 

a  On  entering  it  I  could  see  neither  cabbages 

nor    artichokes,   white  jasmin    nor    narcissus; 
179 


180         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

almost  all  my  carnations  and  hyacinths  had 
perished  ;  my  fig-trees  were  dead,  as  were  also 
my  laurel-thyme  which  generally  flowered  in 
January.  As  for  my  young  ivy,  its  branches 
were  dried  and  its  leaves  the  colour  of  rust. 

"  However,  the  rest  of  my  plants  were  doing 
well  although  their  growth  was  retarded  three 
weeks.  My  borders  of  strawberry-plants,  violets, 
thyme,  and  primroses  were  variegated  green, 
white,  blue,  and  red  ;  and  my  hedges  of  honey- 
suckle, raspberry,  and  gooseberry  bushes,  roses 
and  lilacs  were  all  covered  with  leaves  and  buds. 
My  avenues  of  vines,  apple-trees,  pear-trees, 
peach-trees,  plum-trees,  cherry-trees,  and  apricots 
were  all  in  blossom.  In  truth,  the  vines  were 
only  beginning  to  open  their  buds,  but  the 
apricots  had  already  their  fruit  set. 

"  At  this  sight  I  said  to  myself,"  .  .  .  what  he 
said  to  himself  were  certain  reflections  upon  the 
"  interests  of  the  human  race,"  and  upon  "  the 
revolutions  of  nature,"  which  remind  him  of 
"  those  of  the  state,"  ..."  and  I  said  to  myself 
kingdoms  have  their  seasons  like  the  country, they 
have  their  winter  and  their  summer,  their  frosts 
and  their  dews  :  the  winter  of  France  is  passed, 
her  spring  is  coming.  Then  full  of  hope  I  seated 
myself  at  the  end  of  my  garden  on  a  little  bank 
of  turf  and  clover,  in  the  shadow  of  an  apple- 
tree  in  blossom,  opposite  a  hive,  the  bees  of 


Works  of  his  Old  Age.          1 8 1 

which  hovered  about  humming  on  all  sides.  .  .  . 
And  I  began  to  have  aspirations  for  my  country." 
We  know  already  from  the  Etudes  de  la  Nature 
what  his  aspirations  were ;  they  were  nothing 
very  original  or  bold  considering  it  was  the  year 
1789,  after  the  taking  of  the  Bastille.  Saint- 
Pierre  demands  that  every  employment  shall  be 
open  to  all,  that  individual  liberty  shall  be 
assured,  that  there  shall  be  an  end  put  to  clerical 
abuses,  &c.  The  book  had  .no  success  and 
possesses  no  interest  for  us  ;  we  may  proceed. 

Two  years  after  the  Vceux  d'un  solitaire,  in 
1791,  appeared  the  tale  entitled  La  Chaumiere 
Indienne.  A  party  of  learned  Englishmen  (the 
Academies  again  !)  undertake  to  start  an 
encyclopaedia.  Each  member  receives  a  list  of 
3,500  questions,  and  sets  out  for  a  different 
country  in  order  "  to  seek  for  .  .  .  information 
upon  all  the  sciences."  The  most  learned  of  the 
band  travels  overland  to  the  Indies,  and  on  his 
way  makes  a  collection  of  MSS.  and  rare  books 
forming  "  ninety  bales  weighing  altogether 
9,55olbs.  troy."  He  converses  "with  Jewish 
rabbis,  protestant  ministers,  superintendents  of 
Lutheran  churches,  catholic  doctors,  acade- 
micians from  Paris,  la  Crusca,  the  Arcades,  and 
twenty-four  others  of  the  most  famous  academies 
of  Italy,  Greek  popes,  Turkish  mollahs,  Armenian 
priests,  the  Seids,  and  Persian  priests,  Arab 


1 82         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

sheiks,  ancient  Parsees,  and  Indian  pundits. 
He  prepares  to  return  to  London,  enchanted  to 
possess  "  such  a  splendid  cargo  of  information," 
when  he  perceives  that  all  he  has  learnt,  all  he 
has  collected,  only  serve  to  confuse  and  render 
obscure  the  3,500  questions  on  his  list.  In 
despair  he  goes  to  consult  a  celebrated  Brahmin, 
who  only  tells  him  that  the  Brahmins  know 
everything  and  tell  nothing.  A  storm  obliges 
him,  just  in  the  nick  of  time,  to  ask  shelter  in 
the  cottage  of  a  pariah,  and  this  man  teaches 
him  more  in  an  hour  about  the  way  to  find  the 
truth  than  all  the  academies  of  the  world  had 
been  able  to  teach  him  in  several  years.  One 
guesses  that  the  pariah  did  not  know  how  to 
read  or  write,  and  that  his  secret  consisted  in 
studying  nature  "  with  his  heart  and  not  with 
his  mind."  This  amusing  slight  fancy  is  told 
gracefully  and  pleasantly. 

Meanwhile  the  terror  approached,  and  in 
spite  of  certain  alarms,  it  was  one  cf  the  most 
tranquil  periods  of  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre's 
life.  After  some  months  passed  at  the  Jardin 
des  Plantes,  of  which  he  was  for  a  short  time 
governor,  he  looked  on  at  the  revolutionary 
storm  from  the  depths  of  a  charming  retreat, 
chosen  by  him,  arranged  by  him,  and  which  he 
owed  to  the  mania  of  women  to  marry  celebrated 
men. 


Works  of  his  Old  A%e.          183 

We  have  not  forgotten  that  from  the  moment 
of  his  first  literary  success  several  people 
proposed  to  him.  After  Paul  and  Virginia 
romantic  and  sensitive  hearts  turned  more  than 
ever  towards  him,  and  at  last  he  allowed  himself 
to  be  touched.  The  daughter  of  his  printer,  Mile. 
Felicite  Didot,  had  loved  him  for  a  long  time. 
She  "  did  not  fear  to  own  it  to  him,"  and  was 
rewarded  for  so  doing :  he  consented  to  marry 
her.  He  was  fifty-five,  she  twenty. 

He  consented,  making  his  own  conditions 
however ;  his  letter  to  Mile.  Didot  is  cate- 
gorical. He  wishes  for  a  secret  marriage. 
Further,  he  insists  that  his  father-in-law  shall 
buy  him  an  island  at  Essonnes,  and  build  him  a 
house  there.  "  It  will  take  three  months  to 
build  the  house  and  make  it  habitable  ;  when 
it  is  ready  your  parents  will  retire  to  Essonnes, 
taking  you  with  them,  and  I  shall  rejoin  you 
there  for  our  marriage.  I  shall  have  a  house,  an 
island,  and  a  wife,  without  any  one  in  Paris 
knowing  anything  about  it.  I  shall  establish 
you  on  my  island  with  a  cow,  some  fowls,  and 
Madelon,  who  understands  to  perfection  how  to 
raise  them.  You  will  have  books,  flowers,  and 
the  neighbournood  of  your  parents.  I  shall 
certainly  come  to  see  you  as  often  as  possible." 

According  to  what  follows  in  the  corre- 
spondence this  arrangement  was  not  to  Mile. 


184         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

Didot's  taste.  She  dreamed  of  sharing  his 
glory,  and  he  offered  her  the  post  of  his  house- 
keeper. He  did  not  insist  upon  the  secret 
marriage,  but  on  the  question  of  the  country  he 
would  not  give  in,  declaring  that  he  could  only 
be  happy  there.  "When  my  business  forces 
me  to  be  in  Paris,  I  shall  write  to  you  frequently. 
You  will  be  the  reward  of  my  labours  ;  I  shall 
come  to  forget  in  your  bosom  the  troubles  of 
the  town.  Until  I  can  have  you  always  with 
me  as  my  companion,  I  shall  come  and  pass 
weeks,  whole  months  with  you.  This  is  my 
plan  of  life.  I  shall  rise  in  the  morning  with 
the  sun.  I  shall  go  into  my  library  and  occupy 
myself  with  some  interesting  study,  for  I  have  a 
large  amount  of  material  to  put  in  order.  At 
ten  breakfast,  which  you  will  have  prepared 
yourself  (he  held  to  this)  will  re-unite  us. 
After  breakfast  I  shall  return  to  my  work,  and 
you  can  accompany  me,  if  the  cares  of  the 
household  do  not  call  you  elsewhere  ;  I  presume 
that  you  will  occupy  yourself  with  them  in  the 
morning.  At  three  o'clock  a  dinner  of  fish, 
vegetables,  poultry,  milk-food,  eggs,  and  fruit 
produced  on  our  island,  will  keep  us  an  hour  at 
table.  From  four  to  five  rest,  and  a  little 
music  ;  at  five,  when  the  heat  will  have  passed, 
fishing,  or  a  walk  in  our  island  until  six.  At 
six  we  shall  go  to  see  your  parents  and  walk 


The  Two  Marriages.  185 

in  the  neighbourhood.  At  nine  a  frugal 
supper." 

Mile.  Didot  understood  that  she  might  take 
it  or  leave  it,  and  resigned  herself  to  become 
the  head-servant  of  the  Island  of  Essonnes.  If 
she  had  cherished  any  illusions  as  to  what  was 
before  her,  she  was  not  long  in  losing  them. 
The  letters  which  her  husband  wrote  to  her 
after  their  marriage  have  been  published.  This 
is  the  beginning  of  the  first  pne,  written  during 
a  journey  of  Mme.  de  Saint-Pierre  to  Paris. 

"  I  send  thee,  my  dear,  some  wire  for  my 
tenant,  your  mother's  carpet-bag,  some  potatoes, 
some  beetroots,  which  thou  dost  not  much  like, 
but  which  necessity  will  perhaps  render  agree- 
able to  thee.  If  thou  wilt  share  them  with 

citizen  M junior,  thou  wilt  give  me  pleasure. 

In  this  case  thou  wilt  send  Madelon  with  them, 
and  wilt  give  her  also  the  wire  intended  to 
clear  the  conduit  to  the  well  of  my  house.  .  .  ." 

Then  comes  a  long  paragraph  on  the  nails  of 
various  kinds  of  which  he  has  need  for  his  work- 
men, and  he  continues  :  "Dost  thou  remember 
how  many  handkerchiefs  I  had  ?  there  were 
only  eleven  here,"  and  in  a  P.S.,  "  There  is  no 
sugar  here  at  all,  send  me  a  pound  of  moist 
sugar." 

He  had  not  deceived  her,  nevertheless  his 
happiness  was  great  in  this  first  union.  He  did 


i86         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

not  certainly  use  much  coquetry  with  this  young 
wife,  who  was  about  thirty  years  younger  than 
himself.  Everlasting  household  details:  "Send 
me  some  apples."  ..."  Sow  some  cucumbers." 
..."  Do  not  forget  the  haricot  beans."  .  .  . 
"  Why  have  a  pig  when  we  have  need  of 
potatoes  ? "  It  was  not  worth  while  having 
married  a  poet !  As  for  him,  the  country 
enchanted  him,  and  he  left  his  island  as  seldom 
as  possible.  He  endeavoured  to  ignore  events 
in  Paris,  so  as  to  be  able  to  prepare  in  peace 
his  Harmonies  de  la  Nature.  "  Putting  aside 
all  newspapers  and  books  which  might  have 
told  him  of  the  mad  excitement  of  his  country, 
he  made  a  solitude  of  his  enclosure ;  and  when 
the  mists  and  hoar  frost  on  the  trees  bare  of 
leaves  and  singing  birds,  made  the  country  look 
sad,  VirgiFs  eclogues,  Telemachus,  and  the  Vicar 
of  Wakefield,  gave  him  in  an  ideal  world,  the 
happiness  which  no  longer  existed  on  the 
earth."  x  Let  us  remember  this  passage.  The 
circumstances  under  which  the  Harmonies  were 
composed  explain  the  work. 

The  death  of  his  father-in-law  brought  him 
back  willingly  or  unwillingly  to  the  world  of 
reality.  There  was  a  burdensome  liquidation, 
family  dissensions,  and  worries  of  all  kinds. 
Then  Mme.  de  Saint-Pierre  died  in  her  turn, 
1  The  Biography,  by  Aime  Martin. 


The  Two  Marriages.  187 

leaving  a  daughter  Virginia,  and    a  son    Paul. 
It  was  a  general  breaking  up  of  things. 

There  are  some  people  magnificently  obstinate 
in  being  happy.  Bernardin  had  the  courage  to 
begin  life  again.  At  sixty-three  he  married 
a  pretty  little  schoolgirl,  Mile.  Desiree  de 
Pelleporc,  whose  exercises  it  amused  him  to 
correct,  and  who  was  dazzled  with  the  idea  of 
marrying  the  author  of  Paul  and  Virginia.  He 
found  that  he  had  done  quite  the  right  thing. 
There  is  no  more  any  question  of  cabbages  in 
his  letters  to  his  second  wife.  Bernardin  is  in 
love,  he  wishes  to  please,  and  this  old  grey-beard 
finds  again  his  imagination  of  twenty  to  write 
to  his  Desiree,  his  "joy,"  his  "dear  delight,"  his 
"  everlasting  love."  She  is  ailing.  "  Do  not 
distress  thyself ;  I  shall  work  beside  thee ;  I 
shall  comfort  thee  with  my  affection  ;  I  shall 
kiss  thy  feet  and  warm  them  with  my  love." 
She  writes  to  him  and  he  is  overcome  with 
admiration  :  "  Ah !  how  full  of  charm  is  thy 
last  letter !  it  is  an  enchanting  combination  of 
youthful  imagery,  tenderness,  philosophy,  and 
loving  religion.  I  admired  that  last  thought  of 
thine,  it  is  new,  it  is  sublime — ah!  my  second 
providence  !  &c.  I  have  sent  to  invite  Ducis  to 
come  and  see  us.  If  thou  hadst  not  made  me 
full  of  love  for  thee,  thou  wouldst  have  filled  me 
with  pride." 


1 88         Bernard**  de  St.  Pierre. 

Poor  Felicite  never  had  so  much  attention  in 
her  life  as  Desiree  in  this  one  day,  and  that  is 
not  all ;  the  letter  ends  thus :  "  I  believe  that 
the  new  moon  of  yesterday  will  make  a  change 
in  the  weather.  Meantime  she  has  announced 
herself  by  heavy  showers ;  but  this  abundance 
of  water  accelerates  the  growth  of  the  vege- 
tables ;  it  is  necessary  to  their  progress  and  their 
needs  :  the  month  of  May  is  an  infant  who 
would  always  be  at  the  breast.  I  embrace  thee, 
my  love,  my  delight,  my  month  of  May.  (Signed) 
Thy  friend,  thy  lover,  thy  husband." 

Sainte-Beuve  thought  this  ending  charming. 
"  This  month  of  May  "  he  says,  "  which  is  an 
infant  that  would  ahvays  be  at  the  breast,  is  it 
not  the  most  graceful  and  most  speaking 
picture,  above  all  addressed  to  a  young  wife,  a 
young  mother  ? " 

It  is  Bernardin  who  now  does  the  com- 
missions, and  he  does  not  bring  Desiree  any 
nails  or  moist  sugar.  Not  a  bit  of  it !  He 
brings  her  crayons  and  colours,  perfumery,  a 
fine  tent  for  her  garden.  His  impatience  to 
return  is  extreme ;  he  no  longer  lives  away 
from  her,  is  capable  of  nothing  without  her. 
"  The  absence  of  the  clear-sighted  wife  leaves 
the  husband  only  one  eye  to  see  with,  deprives 
him  of  the  best  part  of  his  senses.  Thy  absence, 
my  angel,  throws  me  more  and  more  into  a 


The  Two  Marriages.  189 

state  of  indolence  which  I  cannot  overcome.  It 
is  absolutely  imperative  that  I  come  to  see  thee, 
and  that  thou  return,  my  love."  In  another 
letter :  "  I  must  return  to  kindle  my  flame  in 
the  sunlight  of  thy  presence.  .  .  .  Good-bye, 
my  delight  ;  I  wish  to  live  and  die  beside  thee." 

He  does  not  doubt  that  the  whole  universe 
shares  in  this  admiration  for  Desiree,  who  was 
moreover  really  charming,  and  the  joy  of  his 
old  age.  One  day  when  she  is  alone  at  Eragny, 
their  country  house  on  the  Oise,  which  had 
taken  the  placs  of  the  island  of  Essonnes,  her 
husband  sends  her  some  details  about  the  battle 
of  Eylau.  He  tells  her  that  two  days  before 
the  battle  Napoleon  had  written  in  an  album 
found  in  a  country  house  :  "  Happy  retreat  of 
peace,  why  art  thou  so  near  to  the  scene  of  the 
horrors  of  war  ? "  "  Does  it  not  seem,"  con- 
tinues Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre,  "  that  he  was 
thinking  of  our  Eragny  ?  If  he  had  seen  thee 
there  with  our  dear  family,  dost  thou  think  he 
would  ever  have  fought  that  battle?  I  warn 
thee  that  if  it  falls  to  my  turn  to  address  him, 
I  shall  charge  thee  with  the  correction  of  my 
speech."  Mile,  de  Pelleporc  had  certainly  not 
been  taken  in  like  Mile.  Didot. 

It  was  in  his  capacity  of  Academician  that 
Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  was  liable  to  be 
called  upon  to  address  the  Emperor.  He  had 


190         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

belonged  to  the  Academy1  ever  since  Napoleon 
had  re-established  it  (1803).  He  had  belonged 
to  the  Institute  in  the  division  of  moral  and 
political  science  from  its  foundation  in  1795.  In 
the  same  year  he  had  charge  of  the  course  of 
ethics  at  the  Normal  School,  and  the  Normal 
School  had  been  suppressed  almost  directly, 
which  was  very  lucky,  for  he  did  not  know  how 
to  speak.  The  elevation  of  the  Bonaparte 
family  sufficed  to  crown  his  old  age.  He  was 
pensioned,  decorated,  and  well  treated  by  the 
Emperor.  The  Parisian  world  petted  and 
flattered  him.  On  one  of  his  journeys  to  Paris 
he  writes  to  his  second  wife :  "  What  is  to 
become  of  our  former  dreams  of  rural  solitude  ? 
How  is  it  possible,  in  the  midst  of  so  much 
writing  to  be  answered,  and  of  visits  active  and 
passive,  to  make  a  fair  copy  of  any  pages  of 
my  old  or  new  Etudes?  I  am  like  the  corn- 
beetle,  living  happily  in  the  midst  of  his  family, 
in  the  shadow  of  the  harvest-field  ;  should  a 
ray  of  the  rising  sun  light  up  the  emerald  and 
gold  of  his  sheath,  then  the  children  seeing  him, 
take  possession  of  him  and  shut  him  up  in  a 

1  That  is  to  say  to  the  class  of  French  language  and 
literature  at  the  Institute  which  the  French  Academy 
revived,  except  for  the  title,  at  the  time  of  the  re- 
organisation of  the  Institute  by  Bonaparte.  (Decreed 
January  22,  1803.) 


The  Two  Marriages.  191 

little  cage,  choking  him  with  cake  and  flowers, 
believing  that  they  make  him  happier  with  their 
caresses  than  he  was  in  the  bosom  of  his  family." 
Of  course  not  a  word  of  this  great  boredom  is 
to  be  believed  in.  The  little  beetle  is  enchanted, 
like  all  literary  beetles,  to  be  covered  with 
flowers  and  shut  up  in  those  beautiful  cages 
which  are  called  aristocratic  salons.  He  would 
be  perfectly  happy  if  he  had  a  good  temper." 

But  his  temper  is  worse  than  ever.  He  had 
never  had  so  many  quarrels,  and  there  is  a 
concert  of  recrimination  among  his  colleagues. 
The  Academy  is  his  favourite  field  of  battle,  and 
two  of  its  sittings  above  all  have,  thanks  to  him, 
remained  memorable.  At  the  first  one  he  was 
in  the  right;  it  was  in  1798.  Religion  was  still 
suppressed,  and  many  people  would  not  allow 
the  name  of  God  to  be  spoken.  Bernardin  de 
Saint- Pierre  had  been  entrusted  with  the  report 
upon  some  meeting,  and  into  this  report  he  had 
bravely  insinuated  a  profession  of  religious  faith. 
Cries  of  fury  arose  in  the  hall,  and  through  the 
noise  one  heard  Cabanis  crying  out  t  "  I  swear 
that  there  is  no  God  !  and  I  demand  that  his 
name  shall  not  be  mentioned  within  these 
walls!"  Another  wished  to  do  battle  with  the 
blasphemer,  and  prove  to  him,  sword  in  hand 
that  God  did  not  exist.  They  all  abused  him 
threatened  him,  and  laughed  at  him,  but  he  held 


192         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

his  own  against  the  storm,  and  refused  to  efface 
the  scandalous  passage.  The  Academy  refused 
to  read  his  report  in  open  meeting. 

His  other  great  battle  was  in  favour  of  a  less 
glorious  cause.  He  found  means  to  raise  a 
tempest  apropos  of  the  Dictionary,  in  which  he 
wished  to  insert  some  sentiment  "  Just  imagine," 
he  wrote  to  Desire"e,  "  that  they  have  put  in  their 
Dictionary  under  the  word  appertain,  '  It  apper- 
tains to  a  father  to  chastise  his  children?  I  told 
them  that  it  was  strange  that  among  a  hundred 
duties  which  bind  a  father  to  his  children,  they 
should  have  chosen  the  one  which  would  make 
him  odious  to  them.  Thereupon  Morellet  the 
harsh,  Suard  the  pale,  Parny  the  amorous, 
Naigeon  the  atheist,  and  others  all  quoted  the 
Scripture,  and  all  talking  at  once,  assailed  me 
with  passages  from  it,  and  united  themselves 
against  me  as  they  always  do.  Then,  becoming 
warm  in  my  turn,  I  told  them  their  quotations 
were  those  of  pedants  and  collegians,  and  that 
if  I  were  alone  in  my  opinion,  I  should  hold  it 
against  them  all.  They  put  it  to  the  vote,  all 
raising  their  hands  to  heaven,  and  as  they  con- 
gratulated themselves  on  having  a  very  large 
majority,  I  told  them  that  I  challenged  their 
statement  because  they  were  all  celibates.  These 
are  the  kind  of  scenes  to  which  I  expose  myself 
when  I  wish  to  uphold  some  natural  truth  ;  but 


The  Two  Marriages.  193 

it  suits  me  from  time  to  time  to  defend  the 
laws  of  nature  against  people  who  only  know 
those  of  fortune  and  credit."  (Letter  of  Sep- 
tember 23,  1806.) 

It  was  hard  on  him  !  He  had  persuaded  him- 
self that  he  was  persecuted  by  the  Institute.  In 
his  mind  the  chief  occupation  of  the  Institute 
was  to  invent  some  bad  turn  against  M.  de  Saint- 
Pierre.  In  1803  Maret  asked  him  for  his  vote. 
Bernardin  replies:  "Of  what 'use  can  the  vote 
of  a  solitary  man  be  to  you,  one  who  has  long 
been  persecuted  by  the  body  to  which  you 
aspire  ?  It  can  only  do  you  harm.  The  atheists 
who  govern  the  Institute,  and  against  whom  I 
have  never  ceased  to  contend,  have  not  only 
deprived  me  of  all  influence,  be  it  in  preventing 
me  from  reading  from  the  tribune  at  our  public 
meetings  the  papers  which  my  class  have  pre- 
pared for  that  purpose  ;  be  it  in  hindering  me 
from  obtaining  the  smallest  post  to  help  me  to 
bring  up  my  family,  but  they  have  even  taken 
pleasure  in  publishing  abroad  that  the  First 
Consul  said  on  one  occasion  :  '  I  shall  never 
give  any  employment  to  a  writer  who  dissemi- 
nates error.'  Thus  they  have  even  deprived  me 
of  hope. 

"  That  is  not  all,  they  have  lately  been  trying 
to   take  from    me    my   actual    means   of    sub- 
sistence." Here  follows  a  long  list  of  grievances. 
14 


194         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

He  has  only  received  £24.  indemnity  on  an 
occasion  when  other  members  of  the  Academy 
have  had  £48  ;  one  of  his  pensions  has  been 
reduced  £2  per  month ;  his  works  have  been 
mutilated  by  the  Censor  ;  he  hardly  dares  to 
present  to  the  public  his  theory  of  the  tides 
for  fear  of  sharing  the  fate  of  Galileo  ;  he 
expects  to  be  exiled,  compelled  to  find  at  a 
distance  a  spot  "  wherein  to  place  the  cradles  of 
his  three  children  and  his  own  grave."  The 
admiration  of  the  world  would  be  powerless  to 
protect  him  against  the  stubborn  animosity  of 
his  colleagues  in  the  Institute.  "  I  resemble 
those  saints  who  attract  from  afar  the  homage 
and  the  prayers  of  men,  but  who  near  at  hand 
are  bitten  by  insects."  This  is  all  nonsense  ; 
he  had  .discussed  persecutions  too  much  with 
J.  J.  Rousseau. 

It  is  not  surprising  that  he  was  detested  by 
most  of  his  colleagues.  Andrieux  remembers 
M.  de  Saint-Pierre  as  "  a  hard,  ill-natured  man." 
It  is  just  to  add  that  those  who  liked  him — 
Ducis,  for  instance — liked  him  very  much,  and 
that  he  knew  how  to  take  pains  to  keep  his 
friends.  There  was  no  middle  course  with  him  : 
he  was  hateful  or  delightful. 

He  continued  to  write  to  the  end  of  his  life. 
"  He  made  a  point,"  says  his  biographer,  "  of 
never  letting  a  single  day  pass  without  writing 


The   Two  Marriages.  195 

down  some  observations  on  nature,  if  it  were 
only  a  single  line.  The  result  was,  in  the  long 
run,  a  multitude  of  rough  notes,  hardly  decipher- 
able, written  upon  scraps  of  paper,  which  he 
compared  to  the  Sibylline  leaves  blown  about  by 
the  wind,  and  of  which,  according  to  the  inten- 
tion of  the  author,  we  have  collected  the  best 
in  his  Harmonies? 

He  also  continued  to  publish  without  suc- 
ceeding in  shaking  his  reputation,  though  it  was 
not  his  fault  if  it  remained  intact,  for  from  the 
date  of  the  Chaumiere  Indienne  one  can  count  on 
one's  fingers  the  pages  which  are  not  worthless. 

The  Harmonies  de  la  Nature  (three  vols., 
1796)  is  only  a  tame  repetition  of  the  Etudes 
de  la  Nature.  We  must  recall  under  what 
conditions  the  Harmonies  was  written.  It 
required  a  miracle  of  faith  or  fixed  resolution 
to  persevere  under  the  Terror,  in  teaching  that 
there  is  no  evil  in  the  heart  of  man  any  more 
than  in  the  rest  of  creation.  Bernardin  de 
Saint-Pierre  accomplished  this  miracle,  but  it 
was  useless  for  him  to  shut  himself  up  in  his 
study  with  Telemachus  and  the  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field ;  inspiration  did  not  come,  and  he  had  to 
content  himself  with  sifting  the  same  ideas  with 
nothing  new  but  a  degree  more  of  exaggeration. 
The  arguments  in  favour  of  final  causes 
surpass  in  naivete,  if  possible,  those  of  the 


196         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

Etudes.  The  foresight  of  creation  has  no 
limit :  "  Not  only  has  nature  given  us  vegeta- 
tion suitable  to  our  physical  needs,  but  she  has 
produced  some  in  connection  with  our  moral 
enjoyment  which  have  become  the  symbols  of 
it  by  the  duration  of  their  verdure  ;  such  as  the 
laurel  for  victory,  the  olive  for  peace,  the  palm 
for  glory.  They  have  been  made  to  grow  on 
all  those  sites  which  by  their  melancholy  and 
religious  aspect  seem  destined  for  burial  places." 
These  last,  which  nature  has  created  expressly 
"  to  decorate  our  tombs,"  and  which  for  this 
reason  are  named  "  funereal  trees,"  are  divided 
into  two  groups  having  "  opposite  character- 
istics. Those  in  the  first  group  let  their  long 
and  slender  branches  trail  to  the  earth,  and  one 
sees  them  waving  about  at  the  pleasure  of  the 
wind,  looking  dishevelled  and  as  though  deplor- 
ing some  misfortune.  The  second  group  of 
funereal  trees  includes  those  which  grow  in  the 
form  of  obelisks  or  pyramids.  If  the  dishevelled 
trees  seem  to  carry  our  regrets  towards  the 
earth,  these  with  their  upright  branches  seem 
to  direct  our  hopes  heavenwards." 

This  example  will  suffice. 

The  goodness  of  man  appears  to  him  to  be 
more  apparent  than  ever.  "I  repeat,  for  the 
consolation  of  the  human  race,  moral  evil  is  as 
foreign  to  man  as  physical  evil,  both  only  spring 


The  Two  Marriages.  197 

from  a  deviation  from  the  natural  law.  Nature 
made  man  good."  This  goodness  would  be 
plain  to  all  at  once  if  they  would  put  into 
practice  M.  de  Saint-Pierre's  plan  of  education, 
and  it  could  hardly  be  put  off  much  longer. 
"  A  day  will  come,  and  I  already  see  its  dawn, 
when  Europeans  will  substitute  in  the  hearts 
of  their  children  the  wish  to  serve  their  fellow- 
creatures  for  the  fatal  ambition  to  be  the  first 
amongst  them,  and  when  they  will  recognise 
that  the  interest  of  each  of  them  is  the  interest 
of  the  human  race." 

A  few  new  scientific  ideas  come  in  to  prove 
that  the  author  is  incorrigible  on  this  point. 
"  If  the  forces  of  the  vegetable  kingdom  reflect 
and  augment  the  heat  of  the  sun,  if  they  effect 
the  atmosphere  and  the  water,  they  have  no  less 
influence  upon  the  solid  globe  of  the  earth,  of 
which  they  extend  the  circumference  from  year 
to  year.  It  is  quite  certain  that  each  plant  leaves 
upon  the  globe  a  solid  and  permanent  deposit, 
and  that  it  is  out  of  the  sum  total  of  these 
vegetable  remains  that  the  circumference  of  the 
globe  is  annually  augmented."  We  could  have 
pardoned  him  this  theory  before  the  works  of 
Lavoisier,  but  coming  after,  they  betray  a  greater 
amount  of  ignorance  than  can  be  allowed  even 
to  a  poet  in  speaking  of  science. 

He  has   also  an  extraordinary  theory  upon 


198          Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

the  chemical  composition  of  the  sun.  "  If  it 
were  allowed  to  a  being  as  limited  as  I  am  to 
dare  to  speculate  about  a  star  which  I  have  not 
even  had  the  happiness  to  see  through  a  tele- 
scope, I  should  say  that  the  material  of  which  it 
is  composed  is  gold,  because  gold  is  the  heaviest 
of  all  known  metals  ;  which  would  apply  to  the 
sun  placed  in  the  centre  of  our  universe.  .  . .  Its 
light  .  .  .  gilds  every  object  that  it  strikes,  and 
seems  to  be  volatilised  gold.  .  .  .  We  are  assured 
that  it  forms  the  gold  in  the  depths  of  the  earth." 
Mystical  reasons  confirm  Bernardin  de  Saint- 
Pierre  in  his  opinion.  "Gold  is  the  prime 
mover  in  societies  of  human  beings  as  the  sun  is 
in  the  universe.  Gold  sets  in  motion  all  social 
harmonies  amongst  civilised  as  well  as  uncivilised 
peoples." 

It  is  always  through  sentiment  that  he  makes 
his  scientific  discoveries.  "  Evidence  is  but  the 
harmony  of  the  soul  with  God  .  .  .  thus  the 
mind  has  no  science  if  the  heart  has  no  con- 
science. Certainty  is  then  after  all  a  sentiment, 
and  this  sentiment  is  only  the  result  of  the  laws 
of  nature.  ...  I  should  then  define  science  as 
the  sentiment  of  the  laws  of  nature  in  relation 
to  man.  .  . .  This  definition  of  science  in  general 
applies  to  all  sciences  in  particular.  .  .  .  Astro- 
nomy ...  is  only  the  feeling  of  the  laws  which 
exist  between  the  stars  and  men." 


The  Two  Marriages.  199 

In  virtue  of  "the  laws  which  exist  between 
the  stars  and  men,"  he  knows  that  the  other 
planets  are  inhabited,  and  he  could  describe 
their  Fauna  and  Flora,  their  landscapes,  and  the 
manners  of  the  inhabitants.  The  men  on  the 
planet  Mercury  are  philosophers  ;  those  on 
Venus  "must  give  up  all  their  time  to  love,"  to 
the  dance,  to  festivals  and  songs.  The  charac- 
ter of  those  of  Jupiter  no  doubt  resembles  that 
of  the  maritime  peoples  of  E.urope  ;  "  they  must 
be  industrious,  patient,  wise,  and  thoughtful, 
like  the  Danes,  the  Dutch,  and  the  English." 
On  all  the  planets,  the  souls  of  the  just  fly  away 
after  death  into  the  sun,  where  they  are  better 
placed  than  anywhere  else  for  enjoying  a  view 
of  the  whole  universe.  "  It  is  there  without 
doubt  that  you  are,  unfortunate  Jean-Jacques, 
who,  having  reached  the  end  of  this  life,  behold 
a  new  one  in  the  sun  ! "  It  is  there  that  Ber- 
nardin  hopes  to  go  to  find  again  his  master,  and 
from  whence  in  spirit  he  sees  himself  throwing 
"  a  triumphant  glance  to  earth  where  men  weep, 
and  where  he  is  no  longer."  So  ends  the  Har- 
monies de  la  Nature  in  a  sort  of  ecstasy. 

It  is  deadly  dull  reading.  You  are  soon  sur- 
feited, as  after  a  feast  of  nothing  but  sweet 
dishes.  There  is  too  much  feeling,  too  much 
happiness  ;  the  world  is  too  well-arranged  and 
engineered,  too  highly  coloured  and  varnished. 


2OO         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

One  agrees  in  the  judgment  which  the  book 
inspired  in  Joubert:  "Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre's 
style  is  like  a  prism  which  tires  the  eyes.  After 
one  has  read  him  for  long  one  is  charmed  to  see 
that  the  grass  and  trees  have  less  colour  in 
nature  than  they  have  in  his  writings.  His 
harmonies  make  us  love  the  discords  which  he 
banishes  from  the  world,  and  which  one  comes 
across  at  every  step.  Nature  certainly  has  her 
music,  but  happily  it  is  rare.  If  reality  afforded 
the  melodies  which  these  gentlemen  find  every- 
where, one  would  live  in  an  ecstatic  languor,  and 
die  of  inanition." 

The  works  which  succeeded  to  the  Harmonies 
de  la  Nature  are  not  worth  spending  time  over 
any  more  than  his  posthumous  ones.1  When 
we  have  excepted  the  Cafe  de  Surate,  a  charming 
satirical  tale  of  a  few  pages,  and  the  fragments 
on  J.  J.  Rousseau,  upon  which  we  have  drawn 
largely  in  retracing  the  history  of  their  acquaint- 
ance, we  may  dispense  with  reading  the  rest. 
On  the  whole  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  is  com- 
plete in  a  single  book,  the  Etudes  de  la  Nature, 

1  We  give  the  titles  of  them  :  De  la  Nature  de  la  morale  (179%), 
Voyage  en  Silesie  (1807),  La  Mart  de  Socrate,  drama  (1808), 
Empsael  and  la  Pierre  cT Abraham,  philosophical  novels  in  the 
form  of  dialogues,  le  Cafe  de  Surate — fragments  on  Rousseau, 
some  accounts  of  travels,  some  pamphlets  and  fragments  of  the 
Amazon. 


The  Two  Marriages.  201 

on   condition   that  we  take   one  of  the  copies 
perfected  by  the  addition  of  Paul  and  Virginia. 

His  last  years  were  the  happiest  of  his  long 
career.  They  were  passed  innocently  in  observ- 
ing his  flowers,  adoring  his  young  wife,  and  in 
realising  at  last  on  paper  his  project  of  an  ideal 
colony,  without  fatigue  or  expense.  It  was  the 
best  way.  He  occupied  himself  every  day  for 
an  hour  or  two  in  organising  it  according  to  the 
laws  of  nature,  bringing  up  the  children  there 
to  the  sound  of  horns  and  flutes,  and  obtaining 
results  without  a  precedent,  which  he  recorded 
in  the  annals  of  the  young  state.1 

The  colony  was  situated  on  the  banks  of  the 
Amazon,  because,  as  a  child,  Bernardin  de  Saint- 
Pierre  had  told  himself  a  story  of  how  he  em- 
barked for  the  Amazon,  and  there  founded  a 
republic.  It  was  above  all  distinguished  for  a 
fabulous  abundance  of  everything.  On  fete 
days  the  citizens  took  their  places  at  public 
tables,  at  which  were  served  whole  whales,  with- 
out counting  an  infinity  of  other  dishes.  Con- 
tempt of  systems  had  there  produced  some 
almost  incredible  scientific  and  industrial  suc- 
cesses ;  people  went  about  in  balloons  formed 
like  fish,  and  capable  of  being  steered  ;  one  saw 
"camels  laden  with  provisions,  led  by  negroes, 
and  sledges  drawn  by  reindeer."  All  the  inhabi- 
1  See  the  fragments  of  the  Amazon. 


202         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

tants  of  this  favoured  spot  were  good,  virtuous, 
and  happy. 

It  was  an  inoffensive  and  harmless  mania. 
In  the  end  I  really  believe  that  Bernardin  de 
Saint-Pierre  was  no  longer  surly  and  bellicose, 
except  in  the  Institute.  There  he  certainly  was 
so,  but  he  paid  dearly  for  it.  What  did  they  not 
impute  to  him  for  crime?  They  reproached 
him  for  sending  his  son  to  college,  his  daughter 
to  Ecouen,  after  having  written  against  public 
education  in  France.  It  is  what  the  adversaries 
of  our  university  system  do  every  day  ;  we  blame 
and  we  submit,  because  we  cannot  do  otherwise. 
They  reproached  him  with  having  been  servile 
in  his  intercourse  with  Napoleon,  whom  he  com- 
pared in  an  academical  oration  to  an  eagle 
"  advancing  in  the  very  centre  of  the  storm." 
He  certainly  would  have  done  better  not  to 
flatter  the  master,  but  he  was  in  such  good 
company !  We  pass  over  other  absolutely 
absurd  grievances.  His  enemies  returned  his 
blows  with  interest,  and,  being  vindictive,  he  died 
without  making  peace  with  them. 

In  the  month  of  November,  1813,  being  then 
in  Paris,  he  felt  that  his  life  was  ebbing ;  several 
apoplectic  attacks  had  reduced  his  strength.  He 
hastened  to  return  to  his  home  at  Eragny,  to 
see  again  his  garden,  the  forest  of  Saint-Germain, 
the  banks  of  the  Oise,  and  there  he  slowly 


The  Two  Marriages.  203 

passed  away,  filling  his  eyes  with  the  splendours 
of  the  world.  He  awaited  death  with  serenity, 
as  it  becomes  a  sage  to  await  the  accomplish- 
ment of  a  law  of  nature,  talking  peacefully  with 
those  around  him  of  the  terrors  which  it  gene- 
rally inspires.  He  said  that  our  fear  of  death 
arises  from  the  fact  that  "  the  thought  of  it  does 
not  enter  familiarly  enough  into  our  education." 
It  is  always  spoken  of  as  something  strange,  as  a 
misfortune  happened  to  some  one  else ;  we  are 
even  surprised  at  it,  so  that  there  seems  to  be 
nothing  natural  in  an  act  which  is  being  accom- 
plished ceaselessly.  Listen  to  the  history  of  a 
malady  he  adds  :  "  I  do  not  believe  ever  to  have 
heard  of  one  in  which  death  did  not  come  from 
the  fault  of  the  sick  person,  or  from  the  doctor ; 
never  from  the  will  of  God." 

His  heart  never  failed  him  except  in  seeing 
his  dear  Desire'e  weep.  "  I  see  her,"  he  said, 
"  incessantly  occupied  in  holding  back  my  soul 
which  is  ready  to  escape."  For  the  last  time  he 
had  himself  carried  into  his  garden.  A  Bengal 
rose-bush  was  still  covered  with  flowers,  but  the 
winter  had  turned  its  leaves  yellow.  "To- 
morrow," said  the  dying  man  to  his  wife,  "  the 
yellow  leaves  will  no  longer  be  there."  On  the 
2 1st  of  January,  1814,  the  earth  was  white  with 
snow,  the  air  misty,  and  a  cold  wind  shook  the 
bare  trees.  At  mid-day  the  sun  pierced  through 


204         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

the  mist,  and  fell  upon  the  face  of  Bernardin  de 
Saint-Pierre,  who  died  breathing  the  name  of 
God.  He  was  seventy-seven  years  old.  His 
death  passed  unobserved  in  the  midst  of  the 
great  events  which  were  then  agitating  France. 

He  had  intrusted  his  reputation  and  his 
works  to  his  wife ;  he  could  not  have  left  them 
in  better  hands.  The  charming  Desire'e  has 
been  the  faithful  and  tender  guardian  of  his 
memory,  a  guardian  sometimes  blind  ;  but  who 
would  think  of  reproaching  her  with  that  ?  She 
married  again,  later,  an  ardent  admirer  of  her 
first  husband,  Aime"  Martin,  the  author  of  the 
great  biography  of  Bernardin  de  Saint- Pierre, 
and  the  indefatigable  editor  of  his  works. 
Together  they  raised  an  altar  to  his  memory. 
One  is  obliged  to  challenge  Aime"  Martin's 
romantic  and  enthusiastic  biography,  but  one 
could  not  read  without  being  touched,  the 
pages  in  which  the  youthful  love  affairs  of  the 
hero  are  poetised  and  magnified  out  of  all 
proportion,  for  those  details  can  only  have  been 
supplied  by  his  widow.  Desire'e  idealised  for 
posterity  even  his  most  vulgar  adventures. 

The  man  was  soon  forgotten,  and  then  was 
invented  the  legend  of  which  we  have  spoken  at 
the  beginning  of  this  book.  The  public  very 
much  dislikes  to  admit  that  there  can  be  any 
disagreement  between  a  writer  and  his  works. 


His  Death.  205 

It  made  of  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  a  reflection 
of  his  writings,  a  very  gentle  and  universally 
benevolent  man  without  any  fault  except  being 
too  over-sensitive.  The  obstinate  combatant 
of  the  Academy  became  transformed  in  the 
imagination  of  the  crowd  into  an  easy-going 
man,  good-natured  and  tearful,  until  his  outline 
was  effaced  from  men's  memory.  Nothing 
remains  to-day  but  an  undefined  shadow,  a 
vague  something,  and  this  something  still  finds 
means  to  have  an  insipid  expression.  It  is  a 
good  thing  to  restore  to  the  original  his  angry 
brow  and  bitter  expression. 

An  analogous  disaster  awaited  almost  all  his 
works.  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre  enjoyed  the 
dangerous  honour  of  having  disciples  much 
greater  than  himself.  His  unobtrusive  halo 
was  lost  sight  of  in  the  glitter  of  Chateaubriand 
and  the  radiance  of  Lamartirie.  He  assisted  at 
the  literary  triumphs  of  the  first ;  but  instead  of 
rendering  each  other  mutual  homage,  master 
and  disciple  treated  each  other  coldly.  Ber- 
nardin de  Saint-Pierre  could  not  without 
impatience  allow  "  the  most  covetous  of  honour 
among  his  heirs,"  according  to  the  expression 
of  Sainte-Beuve,  to  throw  him  into  the  shade. 
Chateaubriand,  at  first  eulogistic,  was  not  long 
before  he  became  irritated  at  hearing  malevolent 
critics  compare  the  elegant  simplicity  of  his 


206         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

predecessor  to  his  own  pomp  of  style.  Towards 
the  year  iSio,  some  one  having  asked  Bernardin 
if  he  knew  Chateaubriand,  the  old  man  replied, 
"  No,  I  do  not  know  him  ;  I  have  in  my  time 
read  some  extracts  of  the  Genie  du  Christianisme ; 
his  imagination  is  too  strong."  They  certainly 
became  acquainted  after  the  nomination  of 
Chateaubriand  to  the  Academy  in  1811.  We  do 
not  find  that  anything  resulted  from  it,  but  the 
following  lines  from  the  Memoires  d?  outre  Tombe  : 
"  A  man  whose  brush  I  have  admired  and 
always  shall  admire,  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre, 
was  wanting  in  judgment,  and  unfortunately 
his  character  was  on  a  level  with  his  judgment. 
How  many  pictures  are  spoilt  in  the  Etudes  de 
la  Nature  by  the  writer's  limited  intelligence  and 
want  of  elevation  of  soul  ! " 

Lamartine,  on  the  contrary,  was  the  most 
grateful  of  pupils,  always  eager  to  acknowledge 
his  master,  and  make  the  best  of  him.  Paul 
and  Virginia  had  been  the  favourite  book  of  his 
childhood,  and  the  poet  paid  his  debt  royally 
to  the  favourite  volume  by  giving  it  a  place  of 
honour  in  two  of  his  own  works.  Jocelyn  read 
and  re-read  Paul  and  Virginia.  Graziella  is  lost 
from  having  heard  it  only  once.  Her  soul,  until 
then  dormant,  revealed  itself  to  her  in  the  soul  of 
Virginia.  Her  beautiful  impassive  face  becomes 
suddenly  overspread  with  the  stormy  tints  and 


His  Literary  Influence.          207 

lines  of  passion.  One  hour  has  sufficed  to 
transform  an  innocent  and  joyous  child  into  a 
palpitating  woman,  ripe  for  love  and  its 
sufferings,  and  it  is  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre 
who  has  accomplished  this  miracle. 

It  was  all  in  vain  ;  such  glorious  homage 
could  not  protect  the  bulk  of  his  work  against 
an  indifference  which  became  ever  more  and 
more  profound.  The  reputation  of  the  author 
of  the  Etudes  de  la  Nature  has  dispersed  in  our 
day  like  smoke,  so  much  so  indeed  that  in 
establishing  the  literary  relation  of  Chateau- 
briand and  Lamartine,  their  direct  precursor  is 
usually  suppressed  ;  they  jump  over  him  to  J. 
J.  Rousseau.  Every  one  of  us  has  forgotten 
what  we  owe  to  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre. 
Maurice  de  Guerin  said  in  1832,  after  having 
read  the  Etudes  de  la  Nature  :  "  This  book  sets 
at  liberty  and  illuminates  a  sense  which  we  all 
possess,  but  which  is  generally  obscure  and 
without  activity  ;  the  sense  which  gathers  up 
for  us  physical  beauties,  and  presents  them  to 
the  soul."  It  has  not  been  given  to  many 
writers  to  awaken  amongst  the  masses  a  sleeping 
faculty,  and  the  event  should  be  of  sufficient 
importance  for  us  not  to  lose  the  remembrance 
of  it  But  in  our  day  we  are  accustomed  to 
observe  this  sense  which  "  gathers  up  physical 
beauties  "  active  within  us,  and  increasing  with- 


208         Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre. 

out  intermission  the  treasure  of  our  sensations 
of  incomparable  enjoyments.  This  all  seems  so 
natural  to  us,  that  we  have  no  more  gratitude 
for  him  who  "  set  at  liberty  and  illuminated  " 
this  precious  faculty  in  the  souls  of  our  grand- 
fathers and  grandmothers. 

There    is     the    same     ingratitude     amongst 
modern    writers   who   do    not    seem    to   have 
remembered   what    they   owe    to    him.       Not 
content  with  having   loved  nature  with  a  con- 
tagious  tenderness,  Bernardin   has  bequeathed 
to   his   successors   the    first   grand    models    of 
descriptive    landscapes,    and    restored    to    the 
French    language   a  picturesque  vocabulary  of 
which   it  had  been  deprived  for  two  hundred 
years.      These   are   two    immense   services    by 
which  he  has  exercised  a  great  influence  on  the 
literature  of  the  nineteenth  century.     Without 
the   Etudes  de   la  Nature   not   only   Ren/  and 
Atala,  Jocelyn  and  Graxiella,  but  the  Gfoiie  du 
'Christianisme  and  the  Meditations  would  have 
been  different  from  what   they  are.     Chateau- 
briand and  Lamartine  would  have  followed  a 
somewhat  different  bent,  and  the  whole  of  the 
modern  school  would  have  followed  their  lead. 
It  is  a  very  great  honour  to  have  given  impulse 
to  the  descriptive   literature  of  the  nineteenth 
century.     Nevertheless,  if  Bernardin    de  Saint- 
Pierre  had  not  possessed  another  title  to  glory 


Engravings  of  Epindes  Picture.   209 

his  name  would  no  longer  be  known  except  to 
literary  men. 

But  he  had  another,  over  which  a  very 
faithful  public  has  undertaken  to  watch.  The 
people,  who  never  forget  what  has  profoundly 
touched  them,  have  guarded  the  memory  of 
Paul  and  Virginia.  They  love  these  two 
children,  so  beautiful,  so  unhappy  ;  and  we  still, 
find  in  the  homes  of  the  peasants  penny 
engravings  of  Epinde's  picture  in  glaring 
colours,  in  which  are  represented  their  games, 
their  young  love  and  their  tragical  end.  On  a 
day  of  inspiration  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre 
conquered  the  glory,  enviable  above  all  others, 
and  which  is  given  to  few  ;  he  created  imaginary 
but  living  characters,  beings  who  never  existed, 
and  who  nevertheless  remain  more  real  and 
more  alive  than  thousands  of  creatures  of  flesh 
and  blood  ;  more  alive,  if  I  dare  to  say  so,  than 
the  heroes  and  heroines  of  his  most  illustrious 
disciples.  Jocelyn  is  already  forgotten  by  the 
world,  Atala  is  no  more  than  an  empty  shadow, 
but  the  popular  imagination  will  for  a  long  time 
yet  keep  in  mind  the  little  Virginia  sheltering 
her  Paul  under  her  petticoat,  and  those  two 
laughing  heads  flying  together  in  the  shower. 

THE   END. 


from  which  it  was  borrowed 


Ji 


NOV29 


JB  ll  |fj 


